


A Court of Wrath and Moonlight

by whokilledkat



Series: A Court of Wrath and Moonlight [1]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, F/M, Feysand babies, Feysand daugher, Feysand fluff, Feysand son, Fluff, M/M, Mating Bond, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Tamlin daughter, also this idea wasn't mine pls go check out a court of spring and stars by allie16_queen, large wingspans, post ACOWAR, steamy illyrian males
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-08-27 21:08:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 135,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16710055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whokilledkat/pseuds/whokilledkat
Summary: The death of Tamlin's wife has left Keorah, their daughter, questioning everything.Growing up in a cold, broken home, Keorah has nobody left to turn to she can trust and is on the brink of losing it all. That is until a request from the Night Court arrives seeking to mend their strenuous relationship and messy history.Rhys and Feyre's son Milo keeps dreaming of two things: a blonde-haired beauty and that awful ash box his unknown enemies had tried to steal him away in. He's still recovering from his overnight abduction when Lucien Vanserra arrives unannounced at an Inner Circle meeting demanding they visit the Spring Court as soon as possible to ensure the safety of his blessed-daughter, Keorah.Old enemies are being rumoured to rise once more as tensions form and bargains are made, as lies are woven and bonds are created. Prythian soon finds itself in the midst of another civil war.Set seventy five years after ACOWAR and ACOFAS, this story follows the next generation of heirs to the seven courts of Prythian and just how complicated diplomacy can be.





	1. Ash and Roses

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Court of Spring and Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11661633) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account). 



Hey guys!

So I'd like to first say that this idea was sparked from the user Allie16_queen and her work A Court of Spring and Stars. I've switched some things around to make it my own, but a lot of the broader ideas and plot points originate from her fanfic. It's really marvellous, go check it out! 

Secondly, this fic does contain some heavy topics like physical/emotional child abuse, domestic abuse, suicidal ideation and other topics that may be triggering to some readers. Many of the chapters contain mention of emotional/physical abuse, so please if you are sensitive to that, be cautious. I will specifically enter any other major trigger warnings before each chapter that contains content that may be sensitive. 

Finally, I really hope you enjoy this and go give me a follow on Tumblr! My handle is illyrianwingspans

 

_ CHAPTER 1 _

_ Keorah _

 

Calloused, slender and careful, those hands drifted across the page, filling in whatever spaces they deemed fitting with fine brushes of charcoal. 

The surroundings were blurred around the edges, only a pale-stained wooden table littered with thick, creamy stationary, some new and waiting to be used, others crumpled up at failed attempts. A set of the finest charcoals gold could buy sat carefully poised near the unknown artist’s right hand, always within reach in case they felt the need to switch. Though it was a little messy, just by the care and precision those hands handled their tools, I could tell that they worshipped this art. 

One moment, there was only shading and vague figures and shapes, coming together to reveal awful, black hands that seemed to be reaching into the artist’s very soul, an evil, ancient and malicious crook to the fingers that only aimed to taunt and terrorize. Darkness surrounded them, thick opaque darkness that made me want to scream out to the artist, to wrap my hands around his, protect him from this pain that gripped his mind. But one sweep of his hand over the page and the lines were completely rearranged to portray a naked female body dead beneath the surface of bath water, dark juice lining her lips pale lips.

My eyes snapped open. I gulped down choked breaths, unable to shake the image of that drawing from my mind, and cursed the Cauldron for ever creating nightmares.

Before I even knew where my feet were taking me, I was ripping back the sheets and stalking to my wardrobe to pull on my fighting leathers, strap my knives into belt, then winnow to the forest as far from the manor as I could possibly be. 

The wind tore at my hair as I ran through the forest, my leather-clad fae thighs pushing off the ground far faster and more powerfully than most fae I knew. It seemed as though hours passed as I dashed by tree after bush after meadow. The leaves from the tall trees rustled in the night breeze and the moonlight guiding my path was fractured by the canopies that overhung above. As those canopies became thicker, I shifted my eyes into an animal's, my view instantly becoming accustomed to the dark of the night. I barely had time to register the strong, steady beat of my heart pounding throughout my body as I cleared the forest and was left with a grassy strip of land that separated myself from the jutting cliff that overlooked torrid sea thrashing a hundred feet below. 

I accelerated as the jut was only feet away, then pushed off as hard as I could from the rock ledge and dove down, down, down into the dark chaos.

Just as my fingertips touched the water’s surface, I folded myself between the pockets of the world, the smell of sea brine and roses tangling together until I was slouched and panting underneath a willow tree, my favorite spot in my court. 

Its branches swayed softly in the wind, and I closed my eyes, picturing those moments with my mother that'd happened ages ago, feeling as though they were yesterday. 

"C'mon, my rose petal," she chirped, beckoning to sit with her under the shady refuge of the willow offered from the beating sun. It was a warm spring day, and the smell of the blooming roses filled every puff of breath I took as my infant legs waddled over to my mother's side. Slumped against the tree, I nestled myself into the crook of her shoulder, then gazed down at the book in front of us. 

“Alright, Keke,” she murmured encouragingly, “just as we practiced.”

I nodded my head hesitantly. Her finger pointed to a sentence halfway down the page, and shockingly I began, “The…y-young boy stared up at the dark sk—” I paused for a moment, then, remembering the feel and sound of the word in my mind, I completed, “sky.”

“Very good!” She exclaimed, a beaming smile donning her face, then her finger jumped to the next line. 

It was interrupted though by the booming sound of my father’s voice. “Lyra! Keorah!”

By the growling undertones that laced those two words, I shot my mother a panicked look, and she only planted a kiss to my temple before we tore off into the meadow, towards the sound of his voice, exactly the opposite of where I wanted to go. 

Those moments alone with her—those were the only ones that’d kept me sane these past seventeen years. And now, they’d be gone forever. 

Because my mother died last week. And tomorrow was the funeral.

* * *

Minutes later I found myself in my washroom, stripping down the worn, foul smelling leathers and quietly climbing into the tub to wash away the remaining sweat from tonight’s workout. I’d lather properly tomorrow morning before they stuffed me into yet another dress. 

Sitting against the white porcelain of the bathtub, the warm water soothing the endorphins running through my veins, I wondered once again what my mother thought and felt those last few moments of her life. Before she’d taken those berries and tore herself away from me. Before she’d fallen unconscious, then drowned to her death. I wondered if she thought of me. The life we’d built together. The life we’d survived so far together. I wondered if she felt any guilt or remorse as the sour juice of those deathly things touched her tongue. 

She’d left nothing behind. No note, no explanation, no last words. I knew because I’d been the one to find her dead, cold body—

I shut the thought out and abruptly stood up, water splashing at my knees. There was nothing I could do about it now. Just play the perfect mourning daughter tomorrow as the rest of Prythian came to pay their respects. 

Towelling myself off, I watched as the cold rustling breeze whipped at the black banner hanging from my window, resisting the urge to snarl. Though she left no note, though she offered no explanation, I knew why she’d left us. Though I despised her for leaving me, I still had a small part of me that understood. 

Especially when I peered over my shoulder into the mirror that reflected the image of five claw marks slashing down my bare back from right shoulder down to left hip.

* * * 

I didn’t mind the primping. My head-lady, Vesna, was excellent at what she did: she could make braids out of tangles with a brush and her nimble fingers, beauty out of dullness with fine powders and expensive stains. All the while cheering me up as I scowled at my reflection each morning. Her jokes and bawdy-tune singing always managed to crack a grin from me. But today, as every other day this past week, she worked in silence with two others, carefully arranging my blonde hair under the black chapeau that bit into my scalp 

Vesna applied a thicker layer of bright cream beneath my eyes to conceal the bags, the product of my late outing last night. Though she would normally go a little extravagant due to the presence of all seven courts today, she kept my face plain for the simple fact that she believed that maybe today would be the day I finally wept for my mother. So far, I hadn’t yet. I didn’t feel the rising urge to do so. Ever since I felt the absence of her heartbeat, something within me had broken so immensely that I believed my mother had stolen my emotions along with her life. Everybody was waiting for me to break down. I could tell by the way the servants silenced as I walked by. By the way guards stood a little more alert when I entered a room. Even my father was cautious this week during our brief exchanges. Though those were few and far between. He was out half the time wreaking havoc on the acres of land behind the manor, trying to keep the destruction out of the house. I knew with absolute certainty the white walls and marble floors would be in ruins if he’d unleashed himself upon them. 

Not me. No, while papa angered and raged at the world, I tamed the imploding of my life to the confines of my mind and body. And I would continue to do so, if only to try to grasp and preserve any bits of sanity I had left.

“I think that is all, my lady,” Vesna murmured softly as she adjusted the black mesh material that fell over half my face and covered the chapeau in tufts. 

I only gave a brisk nod, then pushed off my chair, taking one last look at the flowing skirt of my dress that hugged my waist and torso, the billowing, long sleeves that always managed to get snagged on everything. 

A brusque knock at the door had me releasing a long sigh. It was time. 

* * *

“Keorah, was that you I heard last night stomping about your room?”

Papa’s voice filled the cracks and crevices of the manor as he escorted me from my room in the west wing down to the throne room. My stomach dropped to the floor. I thought I’d been careful, but his sensitive fae ears must’ve picked up on it. 

“Yes Papa,” I answered, keeping my eyes trained on the ground. 

“And what could you _possibly_ be doing at all hours of the night?”

“I went for a run, Papa,” I answered truthfully. “I needed to exercise. I couldn’t sleep.”

He let out an angered huff. “How can you expect to be High Lady when you can’t follow a simple rule?”

Those words, High Lady, always sent a shiver down my spine. There has never been a High Lady of Spring Court. There were only two High Ladies currently in power: Vivianne, High Lady of Winter Court, and Feyre, the first High Lady ever in Prythian, of the Night Court.

Keorah, High Lady of the Spring Court. My father had been roiling when Mama gave birth only to see she’d had a daughter. And though they tried countless times again, Mama never had another child, let alone a son. 

And now she never would. And Papa was stuck with me as heir. 

“When I’m High Lady, Papa,” I countered quietly, “they’ll be my rules.”

He snarled. “You will keep the laws of this court as I have done, and every predecessor before me—”

“Can we not, Papa? Please. Not today.” I hated that word. Please. I hated whimpering it every time those claws unsheathed themselves.

“You keep quiet,” Papa ordered. It seemed as though he’d allow me some peace, if only for today. 

Despite the alarming amount of people in attendance today, there was barely any noise sounding throughout the manor, only the echo of our quiet footsteps across the empty halls. Guards were far and few in between within the manor. They’d been concentrated outside to keep any ill-meaning people out, rightfully so. Today was not a day for trouble amongst the people. 

“You say what we practiced, you thank guests for coming, and you say how wonderful Mama was.” Right before the grand oak doors of the throne room, be stopped, then gripped my shoulders, and a slice of panic tore through me as I felt those claws creep out, only an inch, from his knuckles. They sat threateningly on my shoulders, ready to pierce the skin and ruin the dress, and it all but livened the storm brewing within Papa’s eyes. 

“Do _not_ ,” he breathed, “speak a word of what she did. If I hear those words leave your mouth, you will find yourself without a heartbeat.”

Though the words careened within me and tore at the very heartstrings keeping me from completely falling apart, I only gave a curt nod, then, “Yes, Papa.”

Resuming our initial position, our elbows hooked around each other, the doors opened merely from one thought of Papa’s mind. 

As one, the people stood from the pews that lined both walls of the throne room. As one, they bowed their heads. 

I did not meet their eyes as Papa and I sat at the front and Nevanthi, the High Priestess, began the ceremony.

* * *

“Tamlin, our sincere condolences,” Vivianne, High Lady of Winter murmured, clasping hands with Papa. Tears lined her eyes, and I let out a wheeze of a breath, remembering how well she and Mama used to get along. One year, when we went to Winter to celebrate solstice festivities, they’d invited me to play an old game of cards with them. They’d been heavily intoxicated by the time I’d joined them, and I’ll never forget the howls of laughter that’d radiated from the both of them at the stupidities they said. 

Kallias, High Lord of Winter, echoed similar words, and Vivianne’s tears spilled over as she turned to me. 

“You look so much like her,” she breathed, then collapsed into sobs, arms hooking around me so tightly I thought she’d bruise me. 

“Lyra was the best female I’ve ever known, best mother I’ve ever known,” she cried, cupping my cheeks with her palms. “You don’t understand how sorry I am for your loss.”

“I miss her every heartbeat,” I whispered, laying my hands atop hers to retract them from my face, and close them within my own. I brought our hands and held them to my heart. “You were her dearest friend, Vivianne. She loved you so much.” 

“Cauldron bless her,” Nevanthi added quietly from my right. I bit back a scowl. 

It seemed Vivianne did as well. Though our court respected High Priestesses despite the havoc Ianthe had wreaked upon our court, it seemed that my father hadn’t learned his lesson, and let yet again a problematic Priestess slither in. Nevanthi was deemed as an important leader within our ranks, yet other courts seemed to…frown upon her. 

The High Lord and High Lady of Winter gave me one last quick embrace before the endless tide continued on, and my voice became scratchy from the never-ending exchange of words between myself and people Mama barely knew. High Fae and lesser faeries alike filed up the steps and embraced us over and over again before heading outdoors to the final part of the ceremony where my mother’s ashes would be scattered amongst the budding rosebushes, injecting her essence to transfer her life force to theirs. 

A familiar flash of red hair bobbed up the steps until Lucien was before us. My breath rushed out of me and I almost sagged in relief at the familiar sight of his ruggedly handsome face and metal eye. He wrapped Tamlin in a one-armed embrace, promising to talk later, before turning to me and practically tackling me in a hug. 

There was silver lining his eyes as he pulled away just enough to scan my face, then pull me once more against him. I buried my face into his chest, clutching his dark tunic with all my might. 

“I’m so sorry, Keo,” he murmured into my ear, then pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I would’ve been here so much sooner, there was just some business I needed to take care of in the Day court—”

“It’s okay, Luci,” I assured him, resting my hands on his upper arms, “you’re here now. It’s all I need.”

“Just fulfilling my blessed-fatherly duties,” he smiled weakly, and I tried to mirror it, but failed miserably. I knew he needed to move along so we could finally have this ordeal over with. He stepped away, and with a purse of his lips at Nevanthi, faded back into the crowd. 

Instead of more mourners, Bron and Hart, captains of the guard marched up the stairs with urgency and began whispering sinisterly with Papa. 

“They weren’t invited,” Papa hissed. My eyes darted down to see claws inching their way out of his knuckles, as I’d suspected. Concern made my eyebrows furrow. Who wasn’t invited?

“…made it through the wards…just the two of them…waiting at the entrance.”

A growl from my father. Then, begrudgingly, “Let them in.”

Nods from both of them and they were off. 

Half an hour later, after nodding along to tearful words from Fae of the nearby village with high enough status to attend, only two people remained at the bottom of the steps. When my gaze settled upon them, the breath was ripped from my lungs. 

There, at the bottom of the dais, were the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court.

Feyre Cauldron-blessed was dazzling despite her plain dark gown. Her hair hung in soft curls and framed the high cheekbones and plucked eyebrows of her face. Her long thin nose was perfectly symmetrical, and those bright blue eyes pierced through my own as we locked gazes. 

Then my sight shifted to Rhysand, and something within me halted. 

I’d never met the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court, nor had I met either of their children. I’d only ever heard stories and descriptions, myths and legends surrounding their many triumphs through the safe-guarding of Prythian through the second war with Hybern, and the recent news that their son had been captured in the night by lingering enemies across the sea, but was safely returned home. 

Yet as I gazed at Lord Rhysand’s jet black combed back hair and electric violet eyes, I felt as though I’d seen that face before, somewhere far off and distant. There was this feeling in my stomach that drew me toward those violet eyes. I ignored it as best as I could as Papa began to speak.

“Rhysand,” my father said tightly. “Feyre.”

“Tamlin,” Lord Rhysand replied, a grim expression on his face, “our sincerest condolences.” 

Everyone knew the stories behind my father and Feyre. Vesna told me they whispered them around Mama and Papa’s wedding, saying how history would repeat itself, that those tendencies don’t go away. They were right. They didn’t go away. He just got better at hiding them. 

Though the High Lady of Night, Feyre Cursebreaker, Feyre Cauldron-Blessed, did not show a hint of the history between Papa and her as she and her mate climbed those four steps and stood before us. Lady Feyre was clad in a simple black gown that hugged her curves, Lord Rhysand a complementing tunic. Ethereal swirls of darkness seemed to dance around them sombrely, only a hint of what their magic offered. I held back the urge to run my hands through those tendrils, to snatch the starlight that encompassed the both of them. 

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Feyre offered quietly, but with vehemence, “I couldn’t imagine the pain.”

Papa only nodded, only the tiniest hint of disgust lining the features of his face. I knew the topography of those features, how they danced and contorted together. 

“No politics, no masks, no history,” Rhysand added softly. “I wouldn’t wish this sorrow on anybody.” 

Tamlin only let out a huff, mumbled what seemed like words of thanks, then stalked off through the oak doors we’d entered in, leaving only myself and the Night Court family on the dais. For a moment, we stood in silence. Feyre’s gaze wandered over the throne room as if remembering her time spent here all those years ago. Rhysand only watched her intently. He curled a hand around her waist in a supportive manner, and she turned to him, some unreadable expression dawning their faces. Their eyes finally tore away from each other, as though they’d been speaking in some silent language, before their gazes turned to me. 

Feyre’s eyes softened as she took me in. People often seemed to do that: with my soft blonde hair and doll-like face, to them, I was seen as the pretty little flower of Spring, Tamlin and Lyra’s pride and joy. I let people indulge in that mask. I didn’t let them see the fierceness that burned beneath, the scars that lined my body though I hadn’t been alive for any war. I let them see the primped, dolled-up blonde stuffed into dresses and bonnets, learning to play housewife.

I gave a deep bow of my head. It was no secret that the Night Court was the most powerful court in Prythian. The denizens of Prythian owed a great debt to the Night Court and its Inner Circle for all the efforts they contributed to stopping Hybern from invading seventy-five years ago. Showing respect to the pair that stood before me was inked into my very blood. 

“Please, there’s no need.” Feyre smiled softly. Rhysand remained neutral, scanning me head to toe, assessing. 

There was a beat of silence before Feyre finally offered, “We never knew your mother very well.”

I blinked. Of course, they didn’t. Papa wasn’t very keen on visiting the Night Court. Neither was he keen on having the Night Court visit us. 

“It can only be expected with the…strenuous relations.” 

Rhysand nodded solemnly at my words. “Nonetheless, my dear, we know you’ve probably heard condolences and sorry’s a thousand times this week, which is why I will only say that I too know what it is like to lose somebody so important to me. You are not alone. Though it may feel this way, you are not alone.”

There was something in the way he said it, something about the words he offered me that had sobs rising up my throat. I only put a hand to my heart and replied, “Your words are much appreciated, High Lord.”

There was more silence, and the hall was quickly emptying. The oak doors opened once again, and Papa, red-faced and claws out stormed back onto the dais. He was breathing heavily, and I did not want to see the state of his study after this whole ordeal was over. Feyre only blinked as she stared at the claws, claws she’d probably grown to fear just as much as I did.

“Excuse my absence,” Papa said dryly as those mighty claws retracted once more. “It is time for the Rebirth.” He waved a hand to the entrance of the throne room. 

The High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court nodded once more before stepping down the dais and heading for the doors. I was about to follow suit until thick, calloused fingers wrapped around my upper arm and pulled me roughly back, causing me to nearly trip in my shoes. 

“What did they say to you?” Growled my father, eyes full of rage and wrath. 

I swallowed, used to the anger, used to the temper that consumed him. “They only offered their condolences, Papa.”

“You swear—”

“I swear it,” I interrupted him, tired of the constant back and forth, just wanting to get this day over with. 

My impatience only earned a squeeze of his fingers, tightening so hard that I winced and tore my arm away from him. 

In silence, we walked to the front doors. I hated that silence. Because I knew, I knew that if my mother were here, it wouldn’t be silent. She would’ve protected me. Calmed Papa down. 

But she was just a pile of ash now. A pile of ash and roses. 

* * *

Dinner was taken to my room. I peeled myself out of the black dress with Vesna’s help. Her eyes skipped over the purple bruise lining my left upper arm due to the simple fact she couldn’t see it. I kept the glamour on my skin thick and solid at all times, even going to the extent to teach myself to have it on while I slept. 

The servants knew full well the wrath that boiled within my father’s veins, and when that wrath surfaced, they were quick to turn a blind eye. Obviously, they didn’t know the actions that rage drove him to, nor the pain he inflicted on Mama and I. Even if they did, they couldn’t defy their High Lord, no matter the brutality he may wreak upon the manor. But the less they knew, the better. They needed to feed their families, to keep a steady lifestyle for themselves, despite what it may mean for me, or others around him. 

Once I was in my beige cotton trousers and soft white knit sweater, I settled into the wooden rocking chair beside the window overlooking the front gardens with my mutton stew for another night of loneliness and shifting my food around my plate.

Then there was a soft knock at my door, and Vesna opened it to an auburn-haired head poking through to reveal Lucien’s smiling face. 

For the first time in a while, a full smile danced on my features, and I set my tray down on a nearby table and ran to him, giving him a proper greeting as per our tradition. He scooped me into his arms and swung me around, just as he did when I was about as tall as his hips, then set me down, clearing away the hair that fell into my face. 

“Tell me everything,” he murmured. “I can’t believe she’s really gone.”

I looked down at my shoes, my hands curling to fists, before breathing a long sigh through my nose. “Me neither. It seems unreal.”

He joined me where I was in my rocking chair, pulling over a plush velvet chaise and slumping back. I picked up my bowl of mutton stew once more, more for the heat if offered my hands than the food itself. 

“It was just like any other ride, you know? We were out in the woods near the border when they attacked. One minute we were both laughing, galloping along.” I swallowed. “The next she was ripped out of her saddle. Before I could even blink they’d bit her head clean off her body. Then, before I could draw a breath, my power misted the seven of them.”

“Naga,” he swore. “Bastards.”

It was the story Nevanthi had concocted to cover-up the ‘sin’ behind my mother’s true cause of death. She said the people would respond negatively if they knew she’d taken her own life, because the Cauldron heavily cursed those who committed ‘such atrocities against its gift of life’. Though I knew it was because it would reveal the true state of this court and the person ruling over it. 

“Bastards,” I echoed. 

“You truly misted them?” Lucien murmured in wonder. 

I couldn’t blame him. Misting was a very, very rare and deadly gift that few and far in between possessed, but I nodded my head anyway. It hadn’t been a complete lie. With a snap of my hands I conjured an orange, plucking it from the kitchen and tugging through those pockets within the fabric of the world, then once it sat in my hand, only one thought and it turned into a citrusy mist where the full, ripe fruit used to be. 

His eyes widened in wonder. “When did you learn? How did you—”

“Mama, it seemed, kept the power a secret from Tamlin,” I said quietly, “and taught me discretely. Your silence is appreciated.”

A frown, then a clench of his knuckles, and finally a sigh. “He hasn’t changed, has he?”

I’d never told Lucien of the abuse. I’d never shown him the scars or bruises, which I kept constantly glamoured, I’d never hinted at the notion he would lay a hand on me. The show my mother and I kept up was exhausting and took a toll on ourselves emotionally, but she convinced me it would keep us safe. 

And look where that got us.

“No,” I admitted, then grinned. “But look at how wonderful I turned out.”

Lucien snorted. “Yes, a snot-nosed brat with enough power to tear life away with the blink of an eye.”

“Now, now Lucien, those are hurtful words you’re directing towards your beloved—and might I add _only_ —blessed-daughter!”

“Believe me, Keo, I was forced into it. It didn’t seem so bad when you were a diaper-soiling baby, but once you grew that mouth of yours—Cauldron, did I regret it.”

I only rolled my eyes in response, giving him a vulgar gesture. When I was Blessed by the Mother as a child, my head dipped into the soft rose-petaled waters that filled Nevanthi’s sacred basin to represent the Cauldron, Mama and Papa had chosen Lucien and his mate as well as High Lady Feyre’s older sister Elain to be my blessed-parents. If anything were to happen to my parents before I turned of age, the pair would take care of me until I reached maturity and could rule my court. Yet now that I was of age, or nearly in a few weeks, the role seemed useless. But I cherished it if only for the fact that it created a special bond between Lucien and I. 

Elain and he had tried to figure out their messy relationship. Mama, Papa and Lucien never gave me the full details, only that she was there for my Blessing, then gone a year later once they mutually decided it wouldn’t work out between them. Well, mutual is a strong word. Nobody ever broached the subject with Lucien. Especially once the news reached us that Elain had married a member of the Night Court’s Inner Circle. Lucien left the Spring Court soon after for the Day Court, where his true father was, and took up his life he never had there, claiming he couldn’t stand to be around so many flowers after being with her. I was barely five years old. But he’d visited regularly, teased me, raised me, trained me. Sometimes I wished that he’d been my father instead of Tamlin.

“How are you holding together?” Lucien wondered after a few moments passed, the humour leeched from the conversation with those five words.

I shrugged my shoulders. “As fine as I could wish for.”

He gave me a pointed look. “You know I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I know. But maybe if I say it enough _I’ll_ believe it.”

“Fair enough.”

“How long are you staying?”

He sighed. “Not long, unfortunately. A few days at most. Internal affairs issues concerning trade deals with Dawn popped up and we’ve been trying to charm their pants off to keep them in our good graces.”

“Why do I feel as though Helion takes the saying ‘charm their pants off’ literally?”

Lucien shuddered. “Because he does. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that my father is an orgy-powered walking library.”

“Don’t forget the powerful thighs,” I smirked.

He poked his own. “Doesn’t seem like I inherited those.”

I flashed him a grin and finally reached over to set down my plate. Lucien looked down at my outstretched hands and frowned. 

“So it’s still happening then? The engagement?”

Ah, yes. The engagement. 

I’d worn the ring for so long now that my mind filtered it out every time I looked at my hands. If only it could filter out the misogyny surrounding my husband-to-be’s words and actions. 

Carrick was a High Fae of wealth and haute social class in the nearby village. Papa had decided that when I was to turn eighteen, the age of maturity, I’d be betrothed to him and have him as consort once I was High Lady. Though the idea was mighty appealing to Carrick’s family in terms of power, and for Papa in terms of the wealth they’d be giving to the kingdom in thanks for the union, the real catch was the fact that Carrick was the most powerful High Fae in the village. Offspring from our shared genes would likely be of incredible strength, power and capability. 

Carrick had extreme strength, shapeshifting abilities, air and wind manipulation as well as winnowing and other minor powers. 

Combined with my extreme strength, shapeshifting abilities, wind manipulation, misting powers, winnowing, fire manipulation, spell-cleaving and healing powers…

The results would be incredible. 

I’d earned few of my powers from Papa. Lyra, a denizen originally from the Dawn Court, had a mixed bloodline of powerful males and females from all over the courts. Her lineage seemed to dilute the more it expanded, yet for some reason she’d been gifted many of it: fire manipulation, spell-cleaving, air and wind manipulation, healing abilities, misting powers… a blend of autumn, day, dawn and night carefully crafted and siphoned into one female, who then handed it down to me. 

People murmured how I was stronger than any of my predecessors. As a young girl I never believed them, yet as Mama and I practiced in the thicket near the willow tree, I finally began to believe them. 

Carrick though, as a male, was definitely not the choice I would’ve made for myself. He was handsome, sure—ruggedly so, with short sandy coloured hair and hazel eyes. His body and shape were as expected: pure toned muscle hardened by decades of rigorous training and constant toning. Yet his personality fell flat due to the fact that he held no respect for me. Or any female, for that matter. Marrying him would be signing myself away like a piece of property, something Papa had no qualms over doing. Not to mention the fact that I didn’t have a say in it, that’d been decided when I was still a young girl, not even past my first bleeding. 

“Yes,” I finally answered the loaded question, “it was supposed to be the week of my eighteenth birthday, a few weeks from now. I’m only hoping that maybe I could feign needing more time to mourn.”

“Surely you wouldn’t have to feign it, Keorah,” Lucien’s brows furrowed together, and the words had an accusatory lilt to them. “What happened was tragic. It’s normal if the grief is overwhelming. Nobody will blame you for taking the time you need to mourn your mother.”

And I wished I could tell him the truth, I wish he could scream with me at the injustice of it all. So I settled for a half-truth instead. “It just hasn’t set in yet, I think. Mother’s arse, Lucien, I haven’t even cried. Does that make me a monster? Does that make me abnormal?”

“Two things. No, three things.” Lucien pushed himself to the edge of his seat and gripped my biceps. I hid my wince at the uncomfortable pressure on my left arm. “Firstly, not crying doesn’t make you a monster. We all grieve differently, and what you saw was extremely traumatic. You’re probably still in a state of shock. Seeing your mother die like that?” He scoffed. “That would likely dredge away anybody’s sanity for a little while. Secondly, no, it doesn’t make you abnormal, and even if it did, you are abnormal anyways. You are abnormal in the _best way possible_. If you were normal, you’d be boring as hell, and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself knowing my blessed-daughter is so mundane. And thirdly,” he chuckled, “if I _ever_ hear you say Mother’s arse again, I’ll throw you into the rose bushes, thorns and all.”

I shook my head at the incredulousness of his words yet still smiled. “Why can’t you visit more often?”


	2. Blood and Claws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamlin's good mood drives Keorah to go training with Lucien like the good old days. Tamlin's reaction is...less than par. Trigger warning: graphic scenes of emotional and physical abuse.  
> Also, the song in this chapter when Keorah is playing can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHf_mO0LlWs

We ate breakfast the next morning in the dining hall. I’d convinced Vesna through a series of long whines and sighs to let me wear an outfit of my choice instead of my normally formal attire, claiming I was sick of being so presentable after such a hard week. She wisely chose to back off and I sighed at the warmth of the blush wool knit that hugged my arms. Papa sat to my right and Lucien across from us, both donning similar clothing for sparring. They’d be practicing after breakfast then going out for a hunt, traditions of theirs that held up every timeLucien visited. It was nice to have an extra person at the table, to not have the scraping of utensils against plates be the only sound filling the space. 

“And how is Helion these days?” Papa questioned, sawing through a thick slab of steak. 

“As Helion always is,” Lucien grinned, “ruling and fucking as he pleases.”

Father snorted. A slight grin tugged at my lips. “Good to know things don’t change.”

“Indeed,” Lucien echoed. “And you, Tam? How are the state of things around here?”

“Not much different I’m afraid. The people are mourning, as are we, and everybody wants more money that we don’t have to give them, nor are they entitled to.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. He didn’t know what it was like to live as a poor, lesser faerie in the Spring Court. He kept to himself behind the manicured hedges surrounding them manor to hide from the fact that the people out there were starving. Starving of life, starving of passion, starving of purpose. This court had nothing to offer them, no opportunities in education, arts or in a decent well-paying employment. I’d seen it first hand when I went to help out with repairs of the wreckage Hybern swept through so thoroughly we were still recovering from it seventy five years later. And on top of it all, they had to pay the bloody Tithe, which could cost them nearly their livelihoods. Time after time, Mama tried to convince him to stop such stupidities, that we had enough money, that the court could make more efforts to rework budgets and fund other areas that could certainly use more development, but her opinion was scoffed at by the council as well as my father. She was relentless at trying, they were relentless at denying her. 

It seemed Lucien too remained quiet at the words. I knew that he was thinking the same thing I was. He’d seen what wonders a High Lord makes when he cares for his people, when he cares for his position. It was no secret my father would’ve gladly handed it off to his brothers if he had the chance. But they’d been slaughtered by the Night Court and he’d had no choice. 

Lucien quickly changed the topic. “And what of my blessed-daughter’s wedding?”

Papa smiled, wiping his face on his napkin before speaking. “Weeks away. The court is very excited to participate in the festivities. By the way Nevanthi is describing it, we’ll be celebrating for days.”

My eyes snapped to Papa’s. “Weeks?”

“Yes, Keorah,” he replied before sipping from his steaming mug of tea. “You’ll be eighteen on Nynsar. We’ll likely be setting Nynsar as the date.”

My stomach dropped to the floor. I barely had any time left. Then Carrick would be here, living here, living with me, sleeping in my room… If he treated females so sourly now, I could only imagine what it would be like the night of the wedding. If he would demand we consummate the marriage. The thought turned over and over in my head, making me sicker by the second.

“That’s too soon,” I breathed.

His eyes hardened. “Enough of this.”

And that was that. Lucien kept his eyes trained on his plate. 

Heat filling my cheeks at the dismissal, I mumbled, “Please excuse me,” before pushing away from the table and storming to my room. 

I paced back and forth along the white carpet, gripping my head tightly, wanting to rip the hair right out of their roots in frustration. Then I began chewing at the skin around my nails nervously, a bad habit I’d never been able to shake that came up in my nervous moments, which were often. I hated that I was nothing more than a piece of real estate to him, I hated that Carrick was such an asshole, I hated that I had no say in it, that despite my power and position in this court I couldn’t even object to the proposal, and I hated that I was pacing here alone in my room instead of being able to run to Mama, have her pull me into her side and rub soothing circles on my back. She’d know exactly what to say to calm me down. She’d know exactly what to do for me to let out my anger. But she was gone. 

And I missed her. The pain and fury and sadness swept through me so strongly I put a hand to my chest, hating the physical ache that tore through it and made me damn near clutch one of the four posters of my bed to steady myself. I needed to have a piece of her, to bring her back to me when she was so far away. 

So I waited until the sound of metal clashing metal resonated from my open bedroom window, then snuck quietly down the hall to the east wing where Papa’s room was. 

Behind a heavy wooden door was a vast, open space with a neatly organized desk, two long armoires and a king size four poster bed, similar to mine, draped in black transparent fabric that swayed softly in the breeze from the open window. The fabric had slash marks ripping through it, as well as the black banner hanging from his window, and the curtains donning every other window of the room. There were three doors, one that led to the attached bathroom, and two that led to Papa and Mama’s respective closets. Clothes were strewn on chairs and furniture as I tiptoed through, and I remember when I was a child and I got scared at night, how I would run to this room and Papa would pull me up onto the bed to snuggle between them. When the only thing that filled Papa’s heart was his love for his first-born, the moments we shared together as a family were sacred. A bond had developed between the three of us. It was when Papa figured out he wouldn’t be having a son, that it would be his first-born female to take his place someday…that was when the hatred began turning that love to poison. Pure, unadulterated venom. 

Mama’s closet was wide enough to be its own living quarters. I hadn’t been in here since she died, and hadn’t been here for a while before that, either. Her loveliest, most luscious gowns were hung on display in a neat row, while other clothing and shoes were tucked away into drawers and armoires. Besides clothing, two large book cases sat on the right side of the room along with a corner nook which was home to a side table and long chaise. We’d spend hours there together, reading, talking, teaching me to write. But my favorite part, the part she rarely showed my father, was her music. 

In the left hand corner of the room sat a harp. It faced the window, so she could look out on the vast expanse of flower-covered fields that surrounded the manor as she filled the space with the sound of her nimble fingers expertly plucking the strings. She’d taught me in secret when Papa wasn’t home. She’d learned from her mother, who’d learned from her mother before that, and so on. It was an instrument originate of the Dawn Court, the sound of it exquisite, delicate and light, yet achingly beautiful. 

She’d taught me one song only weeks ago. And as I sat down upon the stool, quickly stretching my fingers and taking a quick, deep breath, I readied my hands and cleared my throat. 

_Everywhere I'm looking now_

_I'm surrounded by your embrace_

_Baby, I can see your halo_

_You know you're my saving grace_

_You're everything I need and more_

_It's written all over your face_

_Baby, I can feel your halo_

_Pray it won't fade away_

She’d written the words and accompanying chords and arpeggios that accompanied it on thick stationary that held itself up against the small stand that stood before the window. I squinted at it as I tumbled through the rest of the song, letting my voice lilt and dance and fill that quiet, empty part of myself, the crevice that’d formed when my mother’s soul left her body. 

I ran through the song a few times until my nerves took over and I scurried back to my room, trying my best to put everything back in order and make it seem as though nothing was disturbed. I couldn’t even bare to think of what Papa would do if he found me there, amongst her things, using the most sacred possession she’d ever owned. I shuddered at the thought. 

It’d been hours since they left and the sun was hanging high in the afternoon sky like a silver clam against the thin veil of clouds. I’d made myself a home in the library after returning to my room to pick up a book I needed to store to its place. The servants brought me tea and biscuits to munch on as I tore through a story, though I barely touched the food, and when I went to take my second cup of tea, it was cold. With a glance in both directions to see nobody was watching, I focused my eyes on the surface of my cup until steam began rising once again, the smiled as I brought it to my lips and the burning liquid ran down my throat. 

A bob of red hair coming closer to the manor’s front steps was the only beacon telling me that Papa and Lucien had returned from their hunt. Feeling achingly bored, I slammed my book shut and marched up to my room, pulling my newly washed fighting leathers on. I quickly braided my hair then stuck my sword in my belt, determined to practice in broad daylight for the first time in a while. And not against a bloody tree, but an actual person. 

Tamlin and Lucien’s footstep echoed in the great hall along with their chuckles and murmurs of approval. I could see why when two guards were hauling a great sized buck down to the kitchens to be skinned and prepped for the next few meals. Papa was always happier after a good hunt, so maybe this task wouldn’t be as daunting as I supposed. Feeling a sudden rush of courage, I trotted down the stairs until I stood before them. Papa looked me up and down before a look of disapproval dawned on his face. My stomach lurched. 

“What are you doing dressed like that?” He demanded. Lucien looked my up and down as well, and his frown of disapproval was aimed at Papa instead of me. 

“I want to train,” I said quietly but forcefully. “With Lucien. As we used to. I need to get outside.”

“Then go for a ride,” Papa answered. “enough of this. You have no need for training.”

“Tam,” Lucien protested quietly.

“She has me, she has all the Cauldron-damned sentries money can buy, and soon she’ll have a strong, powerful husband as well to protect her. She doesn’t need to train.”

“It would’ve been useful last week.”

I didn’t even have time to process the words through my usual mental filter before they slipped out. Instantly, his claws were unleashed and his face contorted, rage filling his features. Instead of breathing hard, roiling with rage as he usually would, we was still. Preternaturally still. 

“Go back upstairs,” he said almost so silently I didn’t hear it. “There will be no training. There will be no ride.”

“Tam,” Lucien said again, more forcefully, and Papa only snarled in response. 

With panic and worry and fear turning over in my gut, I pivoted on my heel and scampered to my room as quickly as I could, and I felt so fucking sick of myself, sick that I was such a coward, sick that just the sight of him consumed in his rage sent me into hysterics. But nonetheless, I sped to my room and shut the door as quietly as I could behind me. Then began pacing so hard I practically ran tracks into the carpet and biting the skin around my nails until they were bloody and raw. 

* * * 

A knock sounded from my door and without my answer Lucien was there shutting the door just as quickly as he opened it. 

“I don’t care what he says,” Lucien breathed, his eyes locking with mine across the room where I sat on my rocking chair. I had my knees bent to my chest and my arms wrapped around my body, pulling myself into a ball and being as small as I could possibly be. I barely huffed an answer before he continued. 

“Let’s go,” he said. “You need to train. You need to keep your strength up. Temper be damned, I won’t see him box you up. Not like what he’s done before.”

I didn’t have the strength or balls to tell him that it was too late, that I was in far too deep, that the leash of control he held over me was so tight I was nearly dead. But Lucien held his hand out to me, a desperate flare to his eyes, and I knew he needed me to do this for his sake just as much as mine. He once told me of the guilt and shame that’d wrecked him for not stepping in to help Feyre during her time of desperation and hopelessness, to be there for her and help her when Papa had abandoned her. The look that was in his eyes was probably the same look he’d given Feyre all those years ago. So, hesitantly, I reached my hand to his.

We became wind and darkness and dust. 

I knew the clearing well. It was about an hour’s walk from the manor to the east where the forest was at its thickest, which was good for concealing any sound or light that might be emanated during our practice. When Mama and I would train, I’d sometimes burn entire acres down. Then, with enough concentration, make those trees grow once again as though nothing had happened. 

The gift of growth. Yet another to add to the list. 

I blinked against the sun, and Lucien only tapped the pommel of my sword to shake me out of my stupor. 

“Now, so far you’ve been all talk, blessed-daughter,” he taunted, a smirk overcoming his face. He unsheathed his sword, the metal letting a satisfying sigh against its sheath. “It’s time to back up that mouth with some action.”

I only returned his smirk, and with one swift motion, unsheathed Aurora. The smooth metal glinted in the sunlight. The reflection casted a beam of light about the size of a gold mark. And when I angled it just right, that light found itself right in Lucien’s good eye. Distracted, he held a hand up to block out the sudden beam of brightness, and that’s when I struck. 

With a barked cry of surprise, he sidestepped, only barely escaping the sweep of my blade. Two more swings and he’d was backed into a tree. 

“While you’ve been dealing with ‘internal affairs’,” I said the two words with as much fake sophistication I could muster, “some of us have been getting up off our asses and practicing.”

His roar of laughter filled the air before he shoved me off and we started once again.

* * *

We were both drenched in sweat. 

“Again,” he said, and there was a hint of wonder there, wonder I’d only heard in one other person’s voice, wonder that warmed my heart because it meant that they did not balk from me. 

Again, I conjured that living flame within me, that fire I felt whenever the suppressed anger would stoke its embers and burn and burn and burn through my flesh and skin and bones until I was encompassed by fire and heat and light. When I opened my eyes, flames were crackling around me. I beamed at the sight, of being encompassed by something so dangerous it could kill and make flesh fall off of bone, yet felt nothing as I was consumed by my power.

“I’ve never seen anything like you,” Lucien said quietly as I made my way back over to him. He laid beneath the willow tree, legs crossed at the ankles, hands cupping his head. I sat cross-legged beside him. 

“Not even Feyre?” I wondered, wiping my forearm across my forehead to clear the sweat. My muscles ached from all the sparring we’d done, and I realized very quickly that despite the fact I had to rely on training alone in the dark at night, I’d still managed to keep myself in shape and practice the training that Lucien and Mama had drilled into me since childhood. Lucien had been impressed, but I was even more impressed with myself. I realized that the pleased, satisfying feeling within my chest was pride.

“Feyre was Made,” he explained, “and that gave her all seven lineages of the High Courts. But yours is natural. You were bred with these powers. Your bloodline was bred so you could have these powers. It just baffles me how it all happened, because it sure as hell wasn’t Tamlin’s lineage that created what I just saw.”

I snorted, then softly said, “It was Mama’s. Her lineage was a cross breed of many different courts. She tried explaining it to me, and I got so confused that she needed to draw a literal map for me to finally understand.” I smiled at the thought and kept my eyes trained on my hands wringing together in my lap. “Her mother’s side was strictly Dawn Court, one after the other ascending purely from their lands. Her name was Alba. She taught Mama the ways of their people and their traditions. They were Peregryn, the Dawn Court’s equivalent to the Night Court’s infamous Illyrian region, and she fell in love with my grandfather, Sadian. Now, his lineage spanned many, many courts. His father was of Autumn Court, a High Fae with a substantial amount of fire-wielding powers, and a temper that would put Tamlin’s to shame. But his mother was of Night Court. She was from the Hewn City, as you know it, the Court of Nightmares. A clipped Illyrian female that rebelled from her tribe at the unfairness of it all, and turned to evil to make amends with her pain. They were both awful, awful people. Absolutely vile. 

“When they had my father, he was mistreated since his birth for his size. He was lanky, tall and skinny, unlike his younger brother that turned out strong and well-built. But what he lacked physically he made up with his magic. When his brother went to lay a hand on him one day, he snapped, and unwillingly misted him completely. Before facing the wrath of his parents, he winnowed away. Away from the Autumn Court, away from his family, and for some reason the Cauldron only knows, he winnowed to the Dawn Court. Right into the Peregryn mountains my mother resided on. 

“He learned their ways. He learned their traditions. He was still a youngling then, not even reached maturity, and so their tribe accepted him openly if only because he hadn’t yet learned how to fly because nobody back home had bothered to teach him. He built up his strength, and soon enough he was soaring with the rest of them. 

“When Sadian met Alba, they were fast friends. And when Alba had her first bleeding, the mating bond snapped into place for both of them. They had Mama, named her Lyra. Years ago when Papa was visiting the Dawn Court, they met and fell in love, got married, and now here I am. With all these powers.”

“Where is your family now?”

“Dead. Either they died in the war with Hybern or of other unknown battles or ailments.”

Lucien whistled lowly, but his head was bowed in respect. Then, it cocked to the side. “And what of Lyra’s wings?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never seen them. I never asked about them. When I did, she refused to answer.”

“And you? Your wings?”

“Feel all you want along my back, Luci,” I chuckled, “there’s nothing there.”

“So…weird,” he said, his lip curling back. “The Mother works in mysterious ways.”

I let out a sigh. “Indeed, she does.”

* * *

The sun was setting by the time we winnowed back to the manor. The moment we landed in my room, I wanted to back track, to disappear right completely, to fold myself between those pockets within the world and stay there forever. 

Sitting at my desk was Papa, claws fully unleashed, head bowed in repressed anger. Once our feet touched the carpet, his eyes were instantly piercing through mine, and the snarl that laced his lips was unlike no other I’d ever seen. 

“And where,” he said quietly with such fury it made my bones tremble, “have you two been?”

“It was my fault, Papa,” I said instantly, that desperation I despised leaking into my voice, “I forced Lucien to take me out. We went to a clearing to spar.”

“Keorah—” Lucien protested, panic overtaking his features—

“Leave, Lucien.”Papa demanded. He stood from my chair, slowly padding towards me, and the storm that was brewing in his eyes was unlike anything I’d seen these past few days. This was the remnants of Mama’s death, of my defiance, of the past two weeks since his last unleashing that’d built up within him and writhed beneath his skin, ready to release itself to the nearest person. Which always happened to be me.

“No.” Lucien stammered, his panic eyes racing between Papa and I. “Tamlin, calm down. She just needed to get out of the house. To exercise.”

“This is none of your concern,” he growled with a snarl, fangs extending, “now _leave_.”

“I will not stand idly by again,” Luci stalked over to me, his voice shaking with desperation and suppressed rage, “I will not let you ruin somebody else—”

“Lucien,” I breathed, tears making my voice shake, “leave.”

“Keo—”

“Leave,” my guttered voice urged him, “get out, now.”

His eyes met mine and there was a silent plea that danced in his eyes with the silver that was lined there. To Tamlin, he murmured, “You’ve lost an ally in the Day Court, High Lord, and you’ve lost a friend.”

Then he was smoke and dust and light, gone in a heartbeat. Which left me alone with the feral beast before me. But I knew what to do. 

I steeled my spine. I clenched my muscles. My breath quickened, hyperventilating with panic and terror and though I could leave in a heartbeat, though I could rip my father apart with half a thought, I couldn’t because then it would ruin all the lies that Mama and I built together, it would ruin the only thing she left behind for me: the facade. And I couldn’t take that away from her. 

But there was that small part of me, that sick, twisted awful thing that lived within the dregs of my soul that twisted and writhed in delight at the brutality about to be unleashed upon me. The part of me that whispered in my ear: you deserve this. 

“You ungrateful, spiteful girl.” Step after step, he backed me into the pale blush coloured wall, and I barked in pain when he slammed his forearm into my chest. He dragged me up until my feet were off the ground and we were eye to eye, and I was wheezing against the pressure against my chest. 

“I gave you _everything_!” He roared, and behind him, the entire room began trembling with his wrath: jewelry went flying from my vanity, the four posters of my bed shaking and collapsing beneath the force of his magic. “I gave you food, shelter, power, a marriage, a life, and my love,” his breath puffed against my cheeks in hot bursts, and I clawed at the arm that held me back, “and _this_ is how you repay me? Disobedience?”

I dropped my arms, rage and wrath and heat boiling through my veins and choked out, “You never…gave me…love.”

The answering roar was so loud I could barely hear the sound of my body slamming into my clothing chest. The impact spread throughout my stomach, knocking the breath out of me, and I stared up at my ceiling trying to catch my breath but didn’t quite have time until his face came into view once again. This time, when he raised his mighty claws, I did not balk. 

And as they sliced across my body over and over, I did not fight back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed! The next update will be a little slower because I'm currently editing some plot points that've been bothering me as I reread it. Hopefully I'll have it done by tomorrow night. Thank you for all the kudos and comments! I'm so happy to know you guys are enjoying this :)  
> Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	3. Stars and Slits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The introduction of the man, the myth, the legend... Milo, heir to the Night Court.  
> Trigger warning: mention of self-harm.

_CHAPTER 3_

Milo

That tug, that unmistakable tug always loved to come in the dead of night. 

I was running through forests and meadows, wind tearing at my face, and the only thing that guided me was a wisp of blonde hair and the rush of breaths the female emanated before me. She flew through the thicket, having memorized the topography of the land far better than me, and I stumbled to catch up to her. Her speed was unlike any other male or female I’d seen before. Yet I still pushed my legs as hard as I could, if only to see a glimpse of her silhouette. 

We crashed through the thick trees to a clear opening, a hidden meadow in a pocket of the coniferous woods, and a jutting ledge overlooked the border of the western sea where land met water. She was dressed in fighting leathers, Peregryn fighting leathers from head to toe, yet all I saw was the luscious, blonde hair, and all I wanted to do was yank her back and pull her into me. But she didn’t stop running. 

Even when her foot hit the ledge, she did not stop. 

“Wait!” I cried. “NO! STOP!”

But she did not hesitate as she threw herself over the ledge and went diving down, down, down into the storm that laid below. Before I could follow her, black hands of shadow and age and evil pulled me back, like the same ones that’d ripped me from my home, the same ones that’d shoved me into that box—

I woke up in a panicked sweat. And there, within the depths of my being, was the tug. That unmistakable tug. 

Sighing, I threw off my covers and softly padded over to my armoire to yank my fighting leathers on as swiftly as I could though sleep protested in the back of my mind and made me want to shove myself right back under the covers. Yet I couldn’t resist the tug. I couldn’t resist the twinge of excitement in my wings that flickered every step I took closer to my door. 

I listened carefully for any noise from within the townhouse to indicate if anyone else was awake, yet my fae ears picked up nothing as I clambered up the stairs to the rooftop, closing the door shut behind me softly as to not wake the rest of my family. 

The night breeze raised goosebumps against my skin as I gazed up at the sky. The moon was bright and wide yet it took nothing away from the stars that graced the sky, twinkling and mesmerizing me despite the fact I’ve seen them every day of my life. If I could spend the rest of my life looking up at those stars, mapping the constellations and counting the meteorites that danced along, then I didn’t know what else I could ask for. 

As I did every other night that tug pulled me to the roof, I stepped right to the lip of the ledge that overlooked the bright, bustling city below, then spread my wings and dropped down, down, down just like that girl in my dream, then banked until I was soaring above the Sidra, the night sky reflecting in the calm navy waters. Everything else emptied itself from my head, every thought, pressure or task I needed to complete completely disappeared when my wings glided in the wind. The sensation never failed to knock the breath out of me even after nearly fifty years of life. 

A great flap of my wings had me stopped until I was flying in place, the entire city before me, a sea of twinkling lights, life and laughter. My city. My home. 

Velaris. 

The city I would rule someday when my parents passed. 

The city I was taken from so abruptly, so _easily_ in the middle of the night.

The thought shuddered through me and I closed my eyes, unable to imagine such a thing. 

A gust of wind sounded behind me, and I did not turn until a figure stood beside me, flapping their wings beside mine, an echo to the song that filled my ears. 

“Can’t sleep?”

My mother’s voice was soft and smooth over the din of the city and the beating of our wings. I turned to see she was still in her day clothes, which meant her and dad were still awake working on the budget rearrangements. The numbers had driven me dizzy by mid-afternoon today when I caved in and excused myself from work. I could only imagine what state their minds were in right now after a full day’s worth of those dreaded lists and figures. How muddled my mind would be one day should this burden settle upon me, yet another disappointment I needed to add to the long ever-growing list—

“Yeah,” I sighed, closing my eyes. “bad dream.”

She snorted in agreement. “Oh, your father and I have our fair share of those. They never get easier, do they?”

I grinned. “No, not quite.”

“Do you want to talk—”

“No,” I answered immediately. I’d heard the question too many times these past few weeks, had dreaded those words thrown at me every second I showed a moment of weakness.

We stared across the city in comfortable silence, observing the late-night party goers and drunkards crossing the streets below. Dad and I used to play a game where we’d make up stories for those people and their lives, though he cheated half the time because the bastard actually _did_ know them by name and face. It only went to show how much he loved his position and his people. A fierce sense of pride spread through my chest. It faded quickly, though, when I thought that I could never live up to him. The shoes that demanded to be filled by me one day were far too big for me. Every day that passed by and my failures amassed only convinced me further.

Mom pulled me from my thoughts when she quietly admitted, “I have to go to the Spring Court tomorrow.”

Fear and dread churned within my gut. “Why? What’s going on?”

A sigh, then, “It seems Tamlin’s wife has passed away.”

Tamlin. A name that incited cold, icy rage when spoken within the walls of my home. A name that sent horror through my veins when remembering the stories mom told me of her early life in the Spring Court, being dragged from her home, forced to undergo Amarantha’s trials to free her love only for him to turn into a monster. 

“Pity,” I said without a hint of sorrow.

Her eyes shot daggers at me. “Milo, just because he’s… _him_ ,” she said, “doesn’t mean he deserved to lose his wife. Tamlin’s daughter did not deserve to lose her mother, and if it happened to you, you’d bloody well rip the throat of the person who just uttered your words.”

“Sorry mum,” I mumbled, training my eyes toward the ground. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“I know,” her eyes softened, and she wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I laid my head on her shoulder, closed my eyes, and let my mother hold me in the dark of the night like she used to when I first learned how to fly and the exhaustion of keeping my wings upright burned my muscles so hard she was basically holding me upright. 

“How are you feeling? About going back there?”

She breathed out slowly through her nose. “I haven’t set foot in those lands in seventy five years, and I didn’t plan to for another hundred.” She began. The pain and sadness that etched themselves into her voice made me want to unleash my powers upon that damned manor and wipe it off the map. “But if it were me, I’d want the other High Lords and High Ladies to pay their respects. If not for him, than for his daughter.”

“Never met the girl,” I murmured. 

“Me neither,” she echoed, “but tomorrow’s as good a day as any.”

“Will we be joining you? Isra and I?”

She shook her head. “I think it’s best if only your father and I go tomorrow.”

I nodded, then murmured, “You should get some sleep, mum.”

She laughed, then said, “Ah, yes, I knew the day would come when my children would be taking care of me instead of the other way around.”

“What do you expect? You and dad are going to run yourself into the damned ground if you keep it up like this. Next thing you know Isra will be kicking dad’s ass from one end of the ring to the other.”

Her roar of laughter filled the air as she pictured the image of my infant sister being anywhere near capable of such violence that would be needed to harm my father. Together, we soared back up to the townhouse’s rooftop where Dad sat with Isra wrapped up in his arms, his wings folded in around them to barricade my little sister from the cold.

“You two are so damned loud,” he whispered as to not wake up Isra’s sleeping figure. “I knew it was a bad idea to spend the night here.”

“Oh, you sensitive Illyrian,” my mother chided, waltzing over to his side and trailing a finger down his wing, which made my nose crinkle in disgust at the thought of what may have been going through their minds, “don’t you miss the times we had together here?”

Indeed dad’s answering smirk was enough for me to deftly sweep in and pull Isra into my arms muttering, “You’re insufferable.”

“If we weren’t so insufferable, you wouldn’t be alive dear son,” was all dad called before I strode to the door and trotted back down the steps to the top floor of the townhouse. 

Though the words were meant to say that if they weren’t so insufferable I wouldn’t have been conceived, it only had me thinking of the box, the ash box they’d shoved me into, the one my parents had torn apart with their bare hands to free me. Indeed, if they weren’t so fiercely protective over me, if they hadn’t had those instincts that roared to them I’d been in danger, I wouldn’t be alive right now. 

Isra shifted in my arms yet remained asleep despite our loud voices. With her soft brown hair contrasting with dad’s dark colouring, I could already tell that she would be striking when she matured, that those piercing gray eyes of hers would bring males to their knees before her. When she was born four years ago, it was one of the happiest days of my life. 

I brought her to the farthest room on the right—mom’s old room when she first moved in here nearly a century ago—that was now decorated in a deep shade of indigo walls and a star speckled ceiling that mom hand painted for her. There was a small play set in the corner and a box of toys beside that, and her bed adorned in a set of blush pink silk sheets and white fluffy comforter cradled her body as I set her down and tucked her in. Her eyebrows furrowed at the movement and she blinked, bright gray eyes meeting mine in the dark. 

She’d learned to speak simple words last year, and now wasn’t shy to say exactly what was on her mind. But her sleep induced mind only murmured, “Cuddles.”

That bond between us, that brotherly bond that drove me to protect her, love her, nurture her bloomed within my chest and beamed at the love and connection that word offered, and I gladly kicked off my shoes and slid in the tiny bed. Instantly, her face was pressed into my chest, and her thumb was in her mouth like the suckers she used to have as a newborn. Her eyes closed once I wrapped my arms around her small frame, her infant wings tucked in close to her body. 

On the night Isra was born, I remembered Dad calling me up to the balcony of the manor, the one that stood on the outskirts of Velaris built a few years after the war with Hybern, the manor we usually resided in when other business didn’t drive us to need to be in the city where everyone could meet us more conveniently if needed. He was holding Isra in his arms, and there was that faraway look in his eyes he sometimes got, the one laced with pain and history and memories he seldom shared. Instantly, I was silent, and I knew these words, whatever he was going to say, were precious ones. 

“We named her after your aunt,” was all dad’s broken voice could manage before tears fell over onto his cheeks as he stared down at my little sister with awe and wonder and pain and dread. 

The words were confusing because I only had two aunts: Elain and Nesta. But it took me a moment to realize that he didn’t mean them. 

“How old was she,” I asked softly. 

“It doesn’t matter,” he clearly did not want to speak about it, about the horrors that must’ve been running through his mind, “what matters is that _she_ is here,” he jutted his chin at Isra for emphasis, “and it is your job, Milo, to take care of her. Protect her with your life. When your mother and I are gone,” he said the words no louder than a wheeze, “when you are drawing your last breath, when you are on the brink between this world and the afterlife, you will protect her with every fibre of your being, as I will protect both you and her and your mother, as I should’ve protected my mother and younger sister.”

“I swear it, father.” I said as strongly as I could despite the aching feeling in my heart at the pain and vulnerability he was showing me. 

“Then it is a bargain,” the words were a whisper, and I soon found myself surrounded by stars and light and darkness swirling around my forearm, and I pulled back my sleeve to reveal dark blue ink lying there, picking up right after the Illyrian tattoos that extended from my neck and chest down to my biceps. The tattoo was a gathering of constellations, swirls of dark and light and thin, precise strokes that ended right where my knuckles met my fingers. And when dad turned to fully face me, I saw that one of the hands holding Isra’s newborn body, once bare, now mirrored the ink that adorned my skin. 

Dad rubbed that tattoo often these days, probably thinking to himself that he’d let me down. I shook the thought away from my head.

I rubbed the same tattoo as well. It was the only piece of skin I never allowed myself to touch the nights when sleep, exercise, speaking to mum or even a good fuck couldn’t dive the thoughts away and I had to bury the blade of my dagger into my skin over and over again.

I stared down at the figure wrapped in my arms, my scar specked arms hidden deep beneath the thick glamor that coated my blemished flesh, then the hand I’d curled around her back, rubbing smooth circles along her spine. A warm feeling spread through my chest, so nice and calming that my eyes closed soon after.

* * *

When I opened my eyes the next morning, it was to the image of Isra jumping up and down on her bed, a bright smile and shriek of laughter upon her lips. “Milo, wake up, wake up, wake up!”

Instantly I was beaming, and it wasn’t long before my hands were clutched around the pillow I’d been sleeping upon moments before, and sent it swinging in her direction. It only caused her shrieks to double in volume, and for her to send the pillow flying back, her fae strength so developed it nearly knocked the wind out of me when I caught it against my chest. 

“Where did you learn to throw like that, little one?” I asked, setting the pillow down beside me. 

“Dunno,” she shrugged. “It’s breakfast time, auntie Nesta made pancakes!”

She was off before I could even ask her another question, and I was chuckling as I slipped into my shoes and padded down the hall and stepped into the dining room where the table had already been adorned with pastries, tea, coffee, breakfast meats and thick, buttery blueberry pancakes at the centre with a quart of maple syrup beside it. 

It was mornings like these where the pain ebbed away if only for a few blessed hours. When that weight crushing my shoulders seemed to fade under the smiles, the banter, the warmth my family and I shared with each other. It was also mornings like these where I hated myself for letting that sadness pull me under like a sackful of rocks tied to my ankles dragging me to the bottom of the sea. I tried swimming, I tried fighting I truly did…but the darkness always seemed to win.

Isra was practically jumping in her seat with excitement as Nesta forked two pancakes onto her plate. “You can have seconds if you’re still hungry, Isra.” I claimed my seat beside my sister and aunt Nesta smiled warmly at me and poured me a glass of milk. “Well if it isn’t my favorite nephew.”

“Your only nephew,” chimed in Cassian, who plopped down beside his wife, “who just happens to be mine as well because he’s the only one who incites you to make pancakes.” He piled four of them onto his plate and dumped syrup all over them before shovelling them into his mouth. “Why don’t you make me pancakes?”

Without missing a beat, she replied, “I didn’t know mutts ate pancakes.”

I chuckled around the rich, sweet food in my mouth and Cassian kicked me gently under the table with a wink. 

“Uncle Cassian, are we training again today?” Isra asked, the corners of her mouth sticky with syrup. Her eyes were wide with excitement at the prospects of being able to train with her uncle, an occurrence that happened less often when we lived at the manor instead of the townhouse.

“Only if you want to sweetheart,” he replied, then added drily, “your dad didn’t really appreciate our lessons last time.”

“When my four year old daughter showed up in my study displaying the bruises up and down her knuckles, no, I wasn’t very appreciative, brother,” Dad added as he walked down the stairs dressed in a dark tunic laced with silver and gold threading.

“Should’ve seen the bruises she left on me,” he huffed, then said sweetly to his wife, “these are delicious, dear. I knew I loved you for a reason.”

“I love you even though you never make me pancakes,” she snorted incredulously. 

“I wasn’t expressing my love for you. I was expressing my love for these.” He held up his fork in emphasis which held a bite of doughy goodness. 

“Well then, looks like my darling niece and nephew are the only ones getting pancakes from now on.”

Cassian’s eyes shifted between Isra and I then said, “I’ll fight you both for the right to pancakes.”

Isra’s eyes glimmered with mischief at the words as though she was ready to pounce across the table right now, but mom’s voice cut in, “Please Cassian, it is too early in the morning to hear you threatening to fight my children.”

Mom traipsed down the stairs in a plain, midnight black gown, her brown-gold curls pulled together in a low bun that sat at the nape of her neck. Kohl lined her eyes and no other jewels were visible save for her sapphire engagement ring. Even in the simplest of dresses, there was no denying she was gorgeous. 

“She started it,” was all commented Cassian, inclining his head at aunt Nesta before piling even more food onto his plate. 

“Morning kids,” dad greeted. He pressed a kiss to both our heads then ruffled Isra’s brown waves, which made her stand in her chair and jump into dad’s arms. He roared with laughter and delight as he ran with her in his arms around the dining room table, jumping every few steps which caused Isra to squeal with excitement, wings flared at her back. Mom only smiled and set her hands on my shoulders. 

“Do I look scary enough?” She asked, looking down at her attire for the day. 

“Positively terrifying, mum,” I replied.

Her answering smile was all I needed before she finally said, “Now, now, Rhys, we don’t want to be late.”

“Can’t keep the tool on the edge of his seat for a little while longer?” Said Nesta. 

Mom rolled her eyes at her sister, then turned to dad. “Ready to go?”

“I’m never ready to go to the Spring Court.” He said, any hint of amusement that laid there before wiped from his face as he set Isra back down into her chair. Sensing the tension, Isra wisely continued eating breakfast in silence.

“Me neither,” mum added quietly, and silent conversation passed between them, mate to mate, through that sacred bond they shared. 

Mom sighed, then turned to us. “Alright. We should be back soon.”

Dad winked at Isra. “Don’t burn the house down in our absence.”

With a burst of darkness, they were gone.

After cleaning off my plate of food and depositing it into the kitchen sink, aunt Nesta called, “Where are you going, Milo?”

Ah, yes. Everyone had also recently become fanatic about my whereabouts. I even heard uncle Cassian shifting his weight in his chair, a silent conversation being sent down the bond that linked them. I hated feeling as though everyone thought I’d disappear forever every time I wanted to take a damn step out of the house.

I announced quietly to my family, “Nya and Raph are waiting for me up north.” I heaved a sigh. “Duty calls. I’ll be back later.”

As I began folding myself into the pockets between worlds, I heard uncle Cassian mutter, “No need to declare every time you need to relieve yourself, nephew.”

With all my might I sent a vulgar gesture to him and his rich laughter filled my ears as I winnowed away from the townhouse and into the thicket of the Illyrian mountains. 

Snow and cold and wind tore at me and with half a thought my night clothes were gone and I was wrapped in Illyrian fighting leathers and thick furs on my shoulders. 

“How nice of you to finally deign to join us, oh gracious Lord Milonius,” Nyana drawled from my left, stepping out from behind a pine tree. 

“These mountains have been freezing my balls off brother,” Rapahel called as he swooped down from above then dug his feet into the ground as he landed, sending a gust of snow spraying all over me. “Time they take a stab at you.”

“I’ve missed you too, assholes,” was all I replied before unsheathing my sword and bringing it down upon Nya, who met it with an upward slash of her own. 

* * *

“How is the camp doing?” I asked as we caught our breath beneath the shade of the pine trees. Snow blew all around us despite the nearness of spring which never quite came to the Illyrian Steppes. Nya and Raph munched on the dried meats I brought them, not as winded as I was by the exchange. Understandably so as they did this kind of training daily while I was filling in paperwork and listening in on council meetings. 

“Nothing much changes, brother. Fucking and fighting just as well as you did when you were among us.”

I snorted at Nya’s vulgarity and nudged her with my shoulder. “Still trouble with Devlon?”

Raph rolled his eyes. “I should’ve ended him long ago.”

“Devlon,” Nya interjected, shooting daggers at Raph, “is still a thorn in my ass, but he keeps me on my toes.”

“Nya, he keeps you living in a goddamn shed.”

My head whipped to Nya, whose cheeks filled with heat and said, “I can take care of myself.”

“Let me speak to him—”

“No,” she cut me off sternly, deep brown eyes burning through mine, “I can handle the prick. Just means I need a few extra furs is all.”

I sighed in surrender, leaning back against the trunk of the pine and closed my eyes. “You guys cold?”

They mumbled their yeses and with half a thought there was a burning hearth before us. Nya and Raph’s eyes grew with wonder, as they always did when I displayed the kernels of my magic budding within me. 

When I was born, the entirety of Prythian seemed to watch as I matured to see the displays of magic I wielded, to see the deadly combination Feyre Cursebreaker and the most powerful High Lord in history had created. Mum told me dad had warned her earlier on in their relationship that any offspring of theirs would be hunted for their gifts, and he was not wrong. 

By the time I learned how to walk, I was spouting flames and ice and water and darkness all around me. Without even trying I’d been able to see inside the minds of anybody around me, which resulted in traumatic images of aunts and uncles tangled together in positions I’d never be able to burn from my memories no matter how hard I tried. Winnowing, shape-shifting, spell-cleaving, healing… I’d been given it all. 

Along with my years in the Illyrian mountains, learning to be a honed warrior as all my fathers before me, the mountains where I’d met Raph and Nya, mum and dad taught me to hone those powers. To perfect them, and yield them so precisely that I could do so in my sleep. The power that hummed beneath my veins required me to empty its reserves so often even a few mere hours with unleashing it drove me to bounce off the walls. 

When dad deposited me in the Illyrian Steppes and I was no more than eight years old and had sworn to train as a true warrior, relying on honed skill instead of the powers that thrummed within me. Yet mum and dad, who’d stayed in the same cottage that dad’s mother had stayed in while he was a boy training like me, would take me out at night deep into the mountains to unleash that power of mine. Before I could wield an Illyrian blade properly, I’d decimated acres of land with magic alone. 

No other warriors would challenge me. No other warriors spoke or even acknowledged me, claiming I’d been favoured by our commanders for my lineage. The only two that did not balk were Nya and Raph who’d kicked my ass from one end of the ring to the other, then offered their hands to help me up with the promise of teaching me their ways, as these mountains had been their homes since they were born. 

Nyana had been thrown within our ranks, an orphan who fended for her own and butted her way up the ranks rightfully so: she was one of the most powerful, honed warriors the Illyrians had ever seen, after uncle Cassian and uncle Azriel. She’d been thrown in along with the boys for the sole reason that they believed she was a male: she sheared her black hair down to her skull and bandaged her chest daily so they may never discover that she was female and discarded with the rest of the girls who were forced to do chores and given minimal training compared to the males. It was only when Raph, Nya and I had been drunk and stupid, taking a piss in the woods when we discovered that Nya was missing a certain…part necessary to be deemed male. And when word was caught that Nya was in fact female, she’d been whipped for all she was worth for keeping such a secret, yet kept all the same amongst male ranks for proving herself to be such a fine warrior. 

I still remembered her bloody grin she shot me that night when informing us that she’d be sticking around to kick our asses so hard our children’s children would feel the blow. 

Staring at her now, how her dark brown skin contrasted so gorgeously against the stark brightness of the snow. Her brown eyes met mine, and there was a certain softness there that made my chest fill with warmth. 

“Oh, quit batting your eyelashes at each other, unless you want history to repeat itself,” Raph spat, punching my shoulder with a roughness we only reserved for each other. 

I snarled at him, then blew him kiss faces. “Don’t forget our night together, brother. Now _that_ history, I wouldn’t mind repeating.”

Raph’s preferences for men were not unknown to the Illyrians. When he’d been disowned by his family after revealing his sexual orientation and chucked into the camp with ash bolts in his wings, Nya and I were instantly there to help remove those ash bolts one at a time as he sobbed and cursed the Mother for the injustice of it all. He used that anger and honed it towards his enemies, toward any warrior that would whisper the slurs under their breath as he passed. His displays of rage earned him multiple beatings which he then returned twice fold to them. Being marginalized only encouraged him to further prove to them that he belonged within their ranks, and soon he was one of the bulkiest, finest warriors amongst us. 

I held no shame admitting that we’d tangled in the sheets as teenagers when our Illyrian urges roared at us to fuck until our legs were sore. It only strengthened that connection between us, three misfits finding each other in a sea of confusion. 

I pulled Nya into my side and she leaned her head on my shoulder, draping an arm across my abdomen. I breathed in her scent, a mixture of winter breeze, vanilla and pine tangling together. Raph curled his arm around the both of us and sighed. 

“If I’m High Lord,” I promised them, “you will be the first people I call upon my ranks. My second and third in command.”

Raph chuckled. “Though I’d be honoured, brother, I don’t think finery is the life for me.”

Nya groaned in agreement. “Stuff me into a gown, Milo, and you will find yourself without your favorite part.”

I shook my head then said, “Fine. Spymaster and commander of armies.”

“Now that’s more like it.” Nya flicked my nose in approval and I snorted. 

“What’s this talk of ‘if’?” Raph’s eyebrows furrowed and he cocked is head to the side. “You’re firstborn. Your powers are beyond compare. You’ll likely be even more powerful than your father by a long shot.”

“I wouldn’t speak so quickly,” I countered, and a smile sat upon my face as I said, “Isra’s growing stronger everyday. It wouldn’t surprise me if the power shifted to her. If I recall, being firstborn and male has nothing to do with Lord and Ladyship anymore in my court.”

Every day that passed only made me more eager to discover the female my sister was growing to be. There was a vivaciousness to her I’d never seen before, a love and light within her chest that filled any room she walked into. That awful, rotten part of me relished in the fact she was displaying such strength and capability of wielding her powers. 

They were quiet for a few moments, then, “If it is so, and your sister would be as gracious to offer us the positions, then I’d be eternally grateful, brother.” Nya held a hand over her heart. 

“As would I,” Raph agreed quietly.

Silver lined my eyes and I said, “You fools. It’s too early in the morning to have me weeping like a little bitch.”

_Now now, Milo_ , mum’s voice sounded in my head just outside my mental shields, _don’t make me wash your mouth with soap_. 

_What is it mother?_ I shot down, lowering my shields enough to let her dark tendril of power peak in. 

_We’re back and we’d like to have a council meeting with the Inner Circle. Are you available?_

_I’ll be there in a moment._

She whisked herself away and I raised my shields once again, then disentangled myself from my friends’ embrace. 

“I’d love to stay and chat, hooligans, but it seems as though my presence is needed elsewhere.”

“Wait,” Nya tugged on the sleeve of my leathers, pulling me back down into their warmth. She exchanged worried glances with Raph before carefully asking me, “how have you been holding up? With everything?”

I closed my eyes. I should’ve known they’d become overbearing mother hens like the rest of them. 

“I’m as good as can be expected,” was the only answer I offered them, which was so far from the truth I’m surprised they didn’t smell the lies on me. “Now, I truly must go before my family shits themselves with worry.”

They stood and mock and both mock saluted me, the air instantly cleared of its seriousness after my vulgar words. The fire that’d been burning brightly before us was doused with half a thought. As we all stood, I forgot just how much Raphael towered over me when he stood, back ram rod straight instead of his usual slouch. Their wings, which were fully displayed, were glinting in the sunlight that pierced the membranous tissue and highlighted the tiny veins and strands of gold beneath. 

“Adieu, Milo,” Nya chimed with a wink. 

“I’ll be dreaming of you!” Raph crooned, and I rolled my eyes as I wrapped myself in velvety darkness until I was soaring above the House of Wind where aunt Mor stepped down onto the landing carried by mum, dad not far behind with Amren. 

I sighed and steeled myself for a family reunion, which was always pleasant within the Night Court’s Inner Circle. 

* * *

“Let’s keep today short and sweet,” aunt Mor sighed as she took her seat between Amren and uncle Azriel. It was weird to see everyone without their significant others who weren’t invited to these meetings, if only because they claimed they bored them to tears. 

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible today,” mum sighed, sliding in beside dad and I, and laid her hands on the table, a silence befalling the room. “Tamlin’s wife is dead.”

Silence, then, a softly cursed, “Fuck,” from Cassian.

“The cause of death was ruled foul play at the hand of the Naga, which we deemed reasonable enough considering though the Naga are dispersed throughout all territories, there are a considerable number of them clustered in the Spring Court for reasons beyond my knowledge. Tamlin’s wife and daughter were out for a ride when they ambushed and ripped her from her horse, decapitating her before either of them could do anything.”

The entire table fell silent at dad’s words. Even I felt a hollowness in my chest filling out at the pain Tamlin’s daughter must’ve felt, enemy or not. 

“Some say Tamlin ripped apart the Naga with his bare hands, others whisper that his daughter misted them on the spot.”

“She’s capable of that sort of power?” Amren demanded, surprise colouring her tone. 

Mum only nodded, that faraway look in her eyes once more. Dad saw that look and jumped in to add, “This all seems reasonable, except for the fact that Tamlin’s wife and daughter are two very, very powerful females. Lyra was a descendant of some of the strongest warriors in the Peregryn airforces, whom we fought beside with 500 years ago, Sadian and Alba. And Tamlin’s daughter is rumoured to be one of the most powerful offspring the Spring Court has ever seen. It baffles me that they did not sense the Naga closing in on them, no matter the Naga’s silent disposition when closing in on an enemy. They would’ve smelled them from a mile away and prepared themselves for an attack.

“Which only means,” dad sighed, “that Tamlin is hiding something. From his people, and from the rest of Prythian. And,” he paused, a glimmer of sadness entering his eyes, “considering that we are on good terms with the rest of our fellow courts after the collaboration to take down Hybern, Feyre and I decided we’d like to try to make amends with the Spring Court.”

Voices began arguing over each other, but mum cut them off. “Do not think,” she breathed, holding everybody’s gazes, “that this means forgiveness. Not for a single moment.”

“It means building an even playing field for the next generation when they take over,” dad concluded quietly, and all eyes seemed to be pointed at me. I only stood a little straighter in my chair, my expression remaining neutral despite the focused attention trained to me. The concern that blighted their faces made me want to fold myself up within my chair and burn into flames. But dad gave me a look, the one that said this was a time to show leadership, to decide the course of action I would take in any similar situations. 

“We put it to a vote,” was all I said towards the questions in their eyes. “this isn’t a dictatorship. I’d like to hear everyone’s arguments and counter arguments, the gains and the losses depending on which decision we make. Then we shall draw a conclusion and form a plan of action.” Words I learned as a child; court proceedings that’ve been grilled into me for years.

After a few brief moments of pregnant silence, discussion erupted through the room. 

I sighed internally, steeling myself for what felt like a meeting that would last days. 

* * *

And so it did. The next day, after a nearly endless night of bickering and back and forth, the group was still split down the middle: dad, mum and Azriel were all for the thought of conducting a two way visit for the Night and Spring Courts, one week in Spring’s capital where the infamous manor resided, and one week in Velaris where we’d host Tamlin and his daughter at the House of Wind. Mum and dad wanted to strengthen relations between them and try to amend the brutal history behind the courts, while Azriel wanted an insider’s position in the court to better see how to infiltrate his spies, which he’d done successfully in all courts except Spring who’d upped their sentry count after Hybern. Cassian, Amren and Mor were against the notion, saying we had enough trouble as it was here in the Night Court with the disputes between the Hewn City and Velaris over the peace agreement they’d signed to thank the Hewn City for their contribution during the war on Hybern. The Hewn City’s denizens were breaking some essential laws written within the treaty and we were still seeking a course of punishment to take against them for their infractions while trying to strengthen the treaty’s laws and make sure no such infractions were committed again. They also claimed that strengthening the Spring-Night relations could certainly wait a generation until the ‘clawed and furry disappointment of a male’ was ousted of his position. This lead me to be the tie-breaker between the two, and I still hadn’t made up my mind, and called it a day when the sun had dipped far below the horizon and stars began to speckle the sky. 

Yet here we were the next day, at it again with a renewed tenacity that only made me want to tear the mountain, tear _myself_ to shreds knowing that this would be my life for the next thousand years: meeting after meeting after meeting…

“Why would we spend our time trying to court an asshole into liking us when we were scheming to rip his court to shreds only seventy five years ago?” Mor was pure flame as she faced down dad. 

Yet it was mum who slammed her hands down on the table. “Because I don’t want my children to have to carry the brunt of that history when they weren’t even alive to witness it. _I_ know best how to deal with Tamlin. I should be there when we attempt to find some middle ground between us.”

“We _all_ know how to deal with dogs, Feyre,” Amren snapped, and mum dared to narrow her eyes at the tiny ancient one.

“It is not the same, Amren, and you sure as hell know it,” Azriel growled. Even Mor and Cassian were silent, though they’d been fuelling each others counter arguments since the beginning yesterday. 

Amren only swallowed, then said, “Apologies, Feyre. I didn’t mean it that way.”

The charged energy leeched from the room with those words, and mum’s eyes softened. “I know,” she said, slumping back in her chair. “it seems as though all this talk about the Spring Court is bringing out the worst in us.”

“Not without reason,” dad added drily, sitting as well and curling an arm around mum, who leaned her head into his chest. 

I opened my mouth to say something, having finally reached a decision when a piercing male scream sounded from outside the doors to the balcony jutting from the mountain’s ledge. 

Instantly, mum and dad were up, along with the rest of the circle, sprinting for the balcony, and whatever sight laid below them had mum spreading her fabricated wings and swooping down so quickly she was a blur in the sky. Moments later, a red-headed male was draped in her arms, leaning on the balcony’s edge and panting heavily from the shock he must’ve undergone from the fall. 

“Vanserra,” Azriel muttered as he paced back into the room to claim his spot once again. “Always knows how to make an entrance.”

I chuckled quietly at my uncle’s words and he shared the tiniest grin. Everyone else followed suit and claimed their seats once more, leaving Lucien Vanserra at the head of the table, standing hunched over, still catching his breath. Mum had given Lucien winnowing access within certain areas of the court should he ever need to make a visit in dire times, and in the past seventy five years, he’d only done so once when he walked in on Helion and his mother in a…scandalous entanglement.

He seemed ridiculous until his eyes met mum’s. They were lined with tears. 

“Keorah,” was all Lucien breathed, and the name struck a chord deep within me, like the answer to a question I’d been asking myself for a thousand years. “It’s Keorah. She’s in danger.”

Something deep within me balked at the thought, though I’d never heard of a Keorah, though I had no sweet clue whom Lucien was referring to. 

“Tamlin’s daughter?” Mum was on her feet, draping an arm over Lucien’s shoulders. Lucien in turn wrapped her in an embrace, and began sobbing, deep, choked sobs. 

The rest of the Inner Circle did not dare breathe while mum tried calming Lucien, some unknown history between the two of them that had them embracing comfortably. She whispered soothing words in his ear, and slowly he regained his composure, pulling back slightly to look into mum’s eyes. 

“I swore to you Feyre I’d never make the same mistakes I made seventy five years ago,” Lucien breathed, his hands clutching mum’s shoulders with all his might. His face was pale, almost a greenish colour like he was about to be sick, and it contrasted starkly against his auburn hair that hung loosely around his features, which only highlighted the metallic eye that scanned every face across the room. “And if I don’t tell somebody what I saw today then I’d be breaking that promise.”

“What is it?” The words escaped from my mouth before I could stop them. Something about the situation sent my stomach tumbling, tripping over itself. Even my father’s eyes darted toward me at the sudden outburst. 

Lucien only locked eyes with me and said, “Tam’s not okay. I think…I think…”

“It’s okay Luc,” mum murmured reassuringly, “we’ll help. In any way we can, we’ll help.”

Lucien only swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut. “He’s resorting to his old ways. Only he’s aiming them at his daughter this time. My blessed-daughter, Keorah.”

Silence. Absolute silence. 

“It’s decided then,” I murmured, locking eyes with mum and dad. “We’re going to the Spring Court.”

No one else dared argue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it! I just finished re-working the entire thing (had some minor hiccups with a few characters) and I'll hopefully be updating pretty regularly from now on!  
> Also, for those wondering, Milo was modelled after the one and only Avan Jogia! His look from his Victorious days never fails to make me swoon. Keorah's mother Lyra was inspired by princess Kida from the Disney movie Atlantis, and Keorah is inspired by her https://www.google.ca/search?biw=1440&bih=700&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=DQ7-W7bkNa7p_QaLz5zQAw&q=tan+skin+blonde+hair&oq=tan+skin+blonde+hair&gs_l=img.3..0i67j0l8.11657.11855..12271...0.0..0.77.197.3......1....1..gws-wiz-img.......0i7i30j0i8i7i30.hmusTDRlDGY#imgrc=ws5Z0Dlsyw1ofM:  
> (not sure who she is, just found her on google). Yes, I know that the blend of genetics I'm playing with don't quite add up to the characters I'm describing (because yes, I took biology, and these combinations just don't occur) but this is fantasy and it's my take on fanfiction so I'm going to pretend that it does.  
> I hope anybody reading this is having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Love, Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	4. Masks and Glamors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court arrive with Milo to the Spring Court and things get... spicy.  
> Trigger warning: mention of suicide/suicidal ideation and self-harm within this chapter. Please read with caution.

_CHAPTER 4_

Keorah 

The request arrived two days after the Incident.

Papa and I were eating lunch silently in the great hall when a sentry knocked at the door, and in came Bron, his sandy hair swishing with each step he took towards Papa. 

“Message from the Night Court, my lord,” Bron said with a dip of his head. He placed a thick sheet of stationary beside Papa’s right hand before giving another dip of his chin then retreating from the hall. The scraping of utensils halted, and in turn was met with a snort. 

Papa pushed away brusquely from the table. He mumbled something under his breath along the lines of ‘insolent idiots’ and stormed away. As soon as his footsteps faded, I let out a sigh of relief and reached for the stationary, wincing when I felt scratches rip open. I’d bled through four dresses and two sweaters already, my pain hidden beneath a well practiced mask and the blood concealed by the thick glamours I’d doubled up on. He’d ravaged my entire torso, leaving no unmarked skin left behind, and warned me that if he smelled any healing magic on me he’d redo the damage twice-fold. I didn’t dare try to stitch the skin back together. Only swallowed the pain and continued on as if nothing happened. 

The brunt of his attack had left me so exhausted that I could barely even put my room back in order. I only washed and clotted the wounds in the bathroom with the supplies I kept beneath my sink, and tried to disinfect it with an alcohol solution. The only thing that kept my screams of agony at bay was biting into a towel and trying my best to keep the volume to a minimum. After wrapping my torso in gauze, I passed out from the adrenaline on the floor, unable to make it to the bed, though it’d been destroyed anyways. 

When Vesna found me the next morning she’d practically combusted. I kept the glamour over myself, yet just the sight of my wrecked room and finding me in my bathroom instead of tucked in as I always am was enough to drive her over the edge. I let her think that it’d been me that unleashed my rage, not my father, that he’d only given me brutal words which frustrated me so far as to trash my room. Her eyes were wary yet she believed it, and we continued along our normal routine, though she added a copious amount of epsom salts to the bath in hopes to relax my alleged fuming temper. I wasn’t complaining, the healing properties of the salts soothed the wounds Vesna couldn’t see, the glaring red swollen flesh staring back up at me. 

We’d continued like that for the next two days. Every time my father came around a corner, I flinched, and he said nothing, didn’t even meet my gaze, didn’t have the sense to apologize. Only ate meals together in silence and continued on with our days. 

I spent most of my time in my room only to be dragged down to eat, Papa claiming that if I looked to thin, Carrick would be upset, and that I needed to upkeep my womanly figure and curves to please him. The words would’ve incited fury before. Now I only gave a simple nod, yet ate little to nothing nonetheless. 

Yet as I studied the stationary and the tizzy it had sent him in, I couldn’t help but reach over and scan the carefully scrawled words there. 

_Tamlin,_

_Let’s make a step towards a better future, for ourselves and our children. The Night Court offers you a week’s stay in its capital, Velaris, if you would deign to return the favour. Though we know these must be dark times for you, we were hoping to further offer our condolences and help bridge an alliance between the Night Court and the Spring Court._

_Send word of agreement, we and our son would arrive in a day’s notice._

_Yours truly,_

_Rhysand and Feyre_

I gawked at the stationary before me. The High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court. Here. For a week. Papa and I in the Night Court. For a week. The thought was dizzying but sent my heart racing all the same. I realized that this unfamiliar feeling was excitement. Anticipation. I hadn’t felt it in a while. It felt…good. So good. To have all that static droned out. 

The door struck open once again and I dropped the stationary as though it were hell fire between my fingers. Papa took one look between the invitation and I and shook his head, crumpling that paper with half a thought. Whatever sensation I’d felt moments before was completely wiped from my being as I beheld my father.

“Go to your room,” Papa growled. His entire body was shaking with rage, and in flew Nevanthi, her skin wan and pale at the sight of Papa in such a temper. Meal forgotten, I shoved myself away from the table, practically sprinting out of the dining room to be as far away from father as I could possibly could get before scampering up the steps and slamming my door behind me. 

I’d rearranged my room after the incident with only a few minor hiccups, the first being that my four poster bed was one heavy-footed stomp away from completely crumbling and quite likely crushing me in my sleep, though the thought did seem mighty appealing in the haze of despair that clouded my mind. In the distance, I heard the shattering of a plate and sighed. 

The second being that most of my drapes and sheets had been shredded and now my room was full of rich, bright sunlight when I couldn’t bear to be bathed in its rays. The only solace I was offered was at night when the moon rose and the sky darkened. That’s when I would stare up at the ceiling and let my thoughts wander until I felt like I was careening so far off the deep end that I’d never be able to reach the surface of my sanity ever again. 

Days began to pass and the manor was enveloped in a crushing silence. I’d tried to read or go for a ride with Bron and Hart. They’d tried to tease and keep me company in their off time, yet the jabs only earned them my heavy sighs and quiet requests to return home due to my fatigue. They complied though they shared wary, concerned looks. I ignored them. 

I pushed the food around my plate every meal, and whenever Papa watched, I took a bite to make him happy. Every thought within me whispered that the table felt so empty, that she should’ve been here, that if Mama were here then I wouldn’t be losing my _fucking_ mind—

And I soon realized that it was _because_ she wasn’t here that I was losing my fucking mind. She did this to me. She left me, and she left me in a million fucking pieces. I didn’t have the strength or the will power to pick them up. 

So I waited day after day as those pieces scattered further and further apart; I waited for the day I would find myself so wholly broken that I couldn’t even find it within myself to try anymore. I waited curled in the darkness for the day I would climb into that bath tub and finally join her.

* * * 

Vesna rushed into my room three weeks after we’d received the invitation in a flurry, and instantly began to work at my hair, the design far more intricate than the usual braid she threw my hair into these days. A gown was laid out on the bed behind me, and I furrowed my brows. 

“What’s going on, Vesna?” The words were rough and scratchy. She frowned at my face, which was thin and pale, then began dabbing some pale cream to my under eyes to conceal that bags that’d formed. 

“The Night Court,” she answered quietly, as though it were sin to even breathe the name in this manor. “They arrive today.”

My heart leapt in my chest. It was the first thing I’d felt in weeks, the first sense of emotion that graced me with its presence after feeling muffled and muted for so long. Yet the feeling didn’t last, and I heaved a sigh, thinking that if things were to go wrong, perhaps it would be a blessing to be ended by the most powerful Fae to walk this earth. 

_Better than the frame of my four poster bed_ , I thought drily, eyes flicking up to see it in my vanity mirror.

* * *

Standing beside Papa in a gown of the palest tone of beige-pink, we awaited the arrival of our guests in silence. I smoothed out the skirts of the dress, soft tulle and mesh layered over each other to create an ethereal effect that made my tan skin glow. Vesna had braided my hair into a crown and set the rose-gold diadem upon it, displaying a circular piece of pink quartz in the middle that shined in the glinting sunlight filtering in through the windows. The silver and gold accents that covered the upper part of the dress reflected that golden light and cast stars across the room. I felt so on display here in the great hall. The sentries were stiff backed, yet their eyes trailed on my figure, at the frail body that laid tucked within the tulle and lace, at the girl who’d been whittled down to nothing after the loss of her mother. I felt the pity in their stares. And though I’d want to rip their heads off before… I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care that Vesna had to secure the dress with three extra pins because it was so loose I was practically swimming in the fabric. I didn’t care that it didn’t cover the scars, the still swollen flesh that flashed a bright gruesome red beneath the glamour. When I stared down at my body, I wanted to sneer in disgust. The fact that I’d be primped and prepped and put on display for the Night Court for the next week, maybe two weeks if all went well…my eyelids grew heavy. I just wanted to sleep and never wake up. 

In a burst of starlight and darkness, three figures appeared: The High Lord of the Night Court, the High Lady of the Night Court, and…

Their son. 

His name escaped my mind, but it didn’t matter as I took in the smooth planes of his face, his jet black hair that hung down just above his shoulder in loose waves, the inky darkness that swam around him like shadows and starlight. A near spitting image of the man that stood beside him, with dark, rich terra-cotta skin and piercing violet eyes, I almost felt as though my knees were buckling at the immensity of the male that stood before me. The heir of the Night Court. The offspring of the two most powerful fae to ever exist. 

He was the most beautiful male I’d ever seen. 

 

Milo

I braced my head between my knees, tapping my foot against the ancient carpet that sat beneath the worn love seat within the townhouse. 

We’d received word of Tamlin’s approval to our request a little over an hour ago, and everything seemed to jump into motion: Nuala and Cerridwen practically shoved me into my finest suit before running after mum and dad to stuff them into their finery as well. I made a note to remind dad to give them a bonus for having given them such a heart-attack over the short notice.

A very large bonus, because the dress that adorned mum’s figure was breathtaking. Swaths of midnight blue fabric shimmered and sparkled in the light of day, and the crown of stars and moonlight digging into her curled hair only brought out the starlight that danced about her frame. 

I’m surprised dad didn’t give in to their rather…salacious ways and rip it clean off of her. I shook my head in disgust at the thought. 

“Alright,” dad huffed, and I stood from where I was sitting to join them. Isra bounded down the stairs after them, a pout already upon her face, and she jumped before us. 

Crossing her arms, she whined, “Why can’t I come with you?”

Mum sighed and kneeled before her, drawing her into her arms and pressing Isra’s head against her chest. “I wish with every fibre of my being you could come along with us, my Stardust, but this trip might turn violent very fast, and I can’t risk putting you in danger.” Mum pulled away and cupped Isra’s cheeks with her palms. When dad noticed her tears, he kneeled down as well and wiped them away with his thumbs. 

“We’ll be back before you know it, Stardust,” dad murmured before pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Aunt Elain and uncle Azriel will be here with you the entire time. They’ll protect you.”

“With our lives,” Elain promised softly from the kitchen, draped under Azriel’s embrace. 

“Okay,” Isra released a shaky breath then looked to me, and those eyes melted my heart. 

“Don’t leave again, Milo,” her voice shuddered, “please, don’t let them take you again.”

The words made my chest cave in on itself, and I spread my arms wide.

She bound into my embrace and I gripped her with all my might, wishing I could erase any trace of fear or sorrow in that little mind of hers. “I won’t ever let them take me from you again,” I breathed, clutching her body, wishing I could keep this feeling with me for the rest of my life. “Be strong, Zaza. You’re a big girl now, you know that? I love you. I’m so proud of you.”

When I set her down, her answering smile and pride eased the frowns from my parents’ faces. 

“C’mon, Isra! We’re making scones today!” Aunt Elain called with a smile.

I patted her head once more, and she threw an ‘I love you’ over her shoulder to mum and dad before racing into the kitchen and up into uncle Azriel’s open arms. While she was distracted, the three of us turned to the door. 

Mum heaved a sigh. “Ready?”

“As ready as I can be to face the tool,” dad grumbled, and mum only shoved him lightly with her shoulder. 

That tug—that tug was screaming, writhing, _almost, almost_ it kept whispering—

“Let’s go,” I choked out, my breath feeling as though it were being squeezed out of me—

“Milo?” Dad questioned, turning to me with concern colouring his features. 

“Milo,” mum breathed as she noticed ghastly expression. “Honey, what is it—”

She didn’t have time to finish her sentence before I reached out and gripped both of their hands, then folded us into darkness and dust. 

I could hear dad roaring my name, then taking control of our descent southward so we landed in the main hall and not some random meadow as I had envisioned in my mind, but that tug was so strong and so pungent here as we drew nearer, closer, just a little closer—

And there it was. There _she_ was. 

Dressed in the palest of fabrics to contrast the beauty of her tanned skin, her golden locks were braided atop of her head which only further highlighted those emerald green eyes that instantly found mine. The diadem that sat upon her head enhanced her beauty and power, such electric power I felt singing in her blood, my own power wanting to taste and explore and experience every single part of it—

There was that unmistakable tug, and an ear splitting crack as something…

Something _snapped_ into place.

No no no no no—

There could only be one thing that felt like that. Like the entire world was going to end if I didn’t take one step closer, just one step closer to breathe some life into those deathly pale lips, burn the dimmed embers with those dulled, tired eyes—

I didn’t care that it was Tamlin, my mother’s abuser, likely this girl’s abuser, positioned beside her. No, he faded away as I took in the sight of the goddess that stood before me, and resisted falling to my knees to worship her right then and there. 

I showed nothing of what I felt on my face. The mask, my parents told me, was the most important part of the game we played with the Spring Court. Reveal nothing. Conceal everything. 

I didn’t even dare think the words. Speak the words. But it was undeniable that what I felt was indeed truly the answer my suspicions had been honing in on.

_What was that?_ Mum screamed, pounding at my mental shields. I forgot about the mess I’d made as we left the house, how the tug had completely overwhelmed every other thought and feeling. They thought it was Hybern, making another claim at me once again.

_Milo, let us in_ , Dad’s voice was scratchy and filled with pain, and I pulled my adamant walls down just a fraction to scream, _It wasn’t Hybern, just a panic attack. I’m fine_.

And that was that. Silence reigned outside and within my mind, so I shoved the shields back up into place and focused on the task at hand, and not that ash box, anything but that ash box—

“I think proper introductions should be made,” was the first thing Tamlin said from atop of the first step of the grand entrance, beckoning us forward with a lazy wave of his hand. He took one step down to the main floor where we stood and offered a hand to his daughter who immediately trailed quietly after him, her green eyes trailed to the floor. How couldn’t she feel that? How didn’t she feel that snap, that sagging relief as the distance between us closed?

“Indeed they should, though I thought we were special enough to at least be greeted somewhere less dingy,” dad purred with that signature smirk of his, the one that could send an enemy’s blood boiling when paired with just the right backhanded comment. This week was exactly the time to exercise that. Play the role of ungrateful, prickish guests, anything that would send Tamlin up the wall to see if Lucien’s claims held true, and confirm that his daughter was in fact in harm’s way. 

And see if there was anything we could do to get her the hell out of here. 

Especially now that I knew she was…

I couldn’t say it.

Tamlin only suppressed a grimace and tried replicating dad’s smirk which only resulted in a cruel, twisted smile. “My daughter, Keorah, future High Lady of the Spring Court.”

She bowed her head. “Pleased to see you once again, High Lord and High Lady.”

That voice. I’d heard it before, long ago, though it seemed blurry and distorted, almost as though it were in a dream. But it was smooth, infinitely velvety and I just wanted to wrap myself within it, within _her_.

“The pleasure is ours, dear,” mum answered with a dip of her chin, “Tamlin, this is our son Milonius, possible future heir to the Night Court.”

“Milo,” I corrected her instantly, “it seems as though my parents _love_ keeping things so formal between us. Milo will due just fine.”

Tamlin looked like he was waiting for some form of recognition from me, and when I refused to give one, he just puffed out a breath through his nose and said, “I must go check on dinner preparations. Keorah, will you be a good hostess and show our guests to their rooms?”

“Of course, Papa.” She said the word with the lilt of the Peregryn accent, the ‘a’ much more pronounced and staccato than our common tongue. The word hostess sent a gust of disdain through me, as though the gifts this girl had received should be wielded for dinner parties and luncheons for the rest of her immortal existence. I bit back the urge to growl. 

"This way," she beckoned to us with that stoney, cool look of hers. Her facial expression had not changed from its original cold neutrality since we’d arrived.

We followed her up into west wing two floors above. The entire manor was decorated with white and gold accents and flowers, all the flowers one could ever imagine—peonies, lilacs, roses, begonias, petunias—aunt Elain would have a field day amongst the flora that surrounded the Spring Court. The one thing that the walls seemed to lack seemed to be...

"No art?" Dad wondered aloud, and when Keorah's gaze turned to meet dad's, her eyes were lowered to the floor. 

"No, my Lord," she murmured. 

It took me a moment to connect the dots between the colour filling Keorah's cheeks and the faraway look that overcame my mother's face, then it hit me. Of course Tamlin would be so petty as to refuse to display artwork because of its fierce reminder that mum left him then practically brought his court to its knees. I couldn't imagine wandering halls so bare, so devoid of colour and light and long past landscapes to catch the wandering eye's wonder. If only I could fill these empty walls, just smooth, clean strokes of black charcoal—

"Here we are," Keorah stopped before a set of double french doors, then dipped her head once more. "I hope everything is to your liking. If there's anything you need, please alert someone and we'll do our best to accommodate to you."

"Your kindness is much appreciated, Keorah." Dad gave the tiniest, tiniest incline of his head, a sign of respect he showed nearly nobody besides his family, and my parents brushed through the doors and closed them with a snap behind them. 

The two of us remained there in the hallway, both uncertain, both silent. 

With a hushed voice, she murmured, "Someone will fetch you for dinner."

Her eyes didn't quite meet mine as she began to step away, and though all I wanted to do was reach out to her, I sighed and entered our accommodations for the week. 

Dad was already pacing the floor, and mum stared blankly ahead where she sat in a cream velvet chaise. There were three different branches to the suite, the first held a double bed adorned with plump, pastel coloured pillows and an off-white duvet that seemed so inviting I just wanted to sink my body into its warmth. Another grander room stood to the far right, where mum and dad would most likely be staying, and the washroom which seemed much for intricate than practical stood on the left. We all stared at each other in the tiny sitting room we occupied. The air was charged and thick with unsaid words. 

Dad only held mum's gaze before saying aloud, “Have you figured it out?”

Mum’s narrowed eyes of concentration loosened and she slumped back in her chair, softly shaking her head. “That glamor is on so thick it might take me hours to take it apart. Her mother was an expert. That thing is so dense even my spell cleaving abilities wouldn’t be able to unravel it without drawing too much attention to us.”

“Glamor?” I questioned. I hadn’t sensed anything, though then again I was busy shitting my pants in that great hall. 

“Keorah has a glamour surrounding her entire body,” dad informed me before taking a seat on the arm of the chaise mum slouched in, eyes closed with fatigue. His hand found hers and he gave it a squeeze. I almost snorted. So they could detect a glamor around some random girl, but not their own damn son.

“What did we get ourselves into?” Mum breathed. “We’re in way over our heads, Rhys.”

Dad shook his head. “We’re here now. We’ve got to move ahead with the plan. There’s no way we can back out without raising their suspicions.”

“And when I reveal what’s hidden beneath the glamor, as we’d suspected all along? What happens then?”

“Wait,” I interjected, the word icy and loaded and heavy on my tongue. 

Both sets of eyes met mine, and I could feel that tangible, palpable flicker of desperation that passed between them. 

“Don’t bother with the glamour,” I said to mum. “Let me do this. Let me talk to her. Befriend her. She seems so…empty.” I whispered. “Lonely. She just needs somebody to talk to her, not to scheme behind her back, especially so close after the lose of her mother.”

My parent’s eyes softened for a moment. Dad said, “Alright. We trust you, son.”

I sighed, the sound loosening itself from my constricted chest, then wandered over and plopped onto my bed. I crawled until I was face-first nestled in between the cushions. I just wanted to scream until I was hoarse, to fly until I could barely keep my wings upright anymore, to cut and cut until there was no unmarked skin left. 

How things had become so, so complicated so quickly, I had no clue. 

The only bit of information that kept my sanity in tact was that my mate was here. 

Keorah.

Mate. My _mate_. 

 

* * *

“Dinner time.”

Two weights settled on either side of me, and dad’s gravelly voice drew me from the realm of sleep I’d been tiptoeing in between. I ran a shaky hand through my hair, drawing myself into a sitting position, only to be met with my parent’s concerned faces. 

I sighed. “What do you overbearing mother hens want now.”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Cassian,” dad chuckled, then reached his hand to squeeze my shoulder. “We just wanted to remind you that you can talk to us any time, Milo. We can’t imagine what these last few weeks have been like for you. But please,” he breathed the word, “please don’t shut us out.”

“What happened to you haunts us every night,” mum added quietly, and that sorrow-filled look they shared only further confirmed it, “we’re still hunting down the bastards. We won’t sleep well until they do.”

“But Tamlin confirmed that we’re safe here. Now, I wouldn’t take that at face value, so we’ve added extra wards around the manor and our rooms. Should absolutely anything happen, we won’t let them get as far as they got last time.”

I closed my eyes at the thought of that suffocating darkness, those hands, the utter complete wrongness and death and decay that surrounded my being in that ash box, the ash mask, the faebane mist—

But also at the fact that they only noticed this sadness and desperation festering itself within me after I’d been kidnapped. That they never scented the blood that would pour from my self-inflicted wounds only two rooms away from them, that they couldn’t see I _hated_ my life, I _hated_ myself—

“Hey,” mum said, and her hand reached out to cup my cheek, but I couldn’t fight against the rising sob in my throat. Even after nearly forty nine years of being alive, time had not steeled my emotions quite yet. 

“Come here,” dad soothed, and they both pulled me into a fierce embrace, crushing me between them, and though it kind of hurt, I gave them that closeness and connection that their parental bond probably craved so desperately, even if that underlying resentment stilled coiled within my stomach.

And I wondered what it would’ve been like to have been raised in the household that surrounded me, with the limited love that Tamlin offered his child, the temper and the rage that consumed him. I wondered where I’d be without my parents’ affection. I wondered where Keorah would be if she had her father’s affection now and before. 

But then I reminded myself that I was probably just as fucked up and empty as her, no matter the four walls and people who’d surrounded me.

Despite how many different ways my mind turned over the possibility, I still couldn’t shake the image of Tamlin’s supposed rage pointed at that frail, angelic female I saw today. 

My mate. 

_My mate._

I was in such deep, unending shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! I'm still working on drafting the rest of this because there is SO MUCH I want to include, but so far I've got about 60 000 words (and I'm barely a third of the way through... lol) and I'll update tomorrow night! Thanks for all the kudos and comments, they mean so much!  
> To anyone reading this, have a lovely morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	5. Nightmares and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flirty fun times between Keorah and Milo as they begin to talk and get to know each other.  
> Trigger warning: mention of suicide and self-harm as well as physical/emotional abuse.

_CHAPTER 5_

 

Keorah

The forest green silk dress hugged every curve and crevice of my body. 

If you looked close enough without the glamour, you could even see the slash marks that lay beneath, the skin that would never heal from the horrors it was submitted to. But I didn’t quite care. 

My limp hair fell around my shoulders in loose waves. Vesna darkened my lashes and tried to add some colour to my lips, yet ended up wiping it off because it contrasted so harshly against my wan skin. Even my darker colouring had turned more ashen than usual from being inside in the previous weeks. Though there wasn’t a literal barrier around the house, the threat that ensued if I ever went wandering off on my own was enough to keep me barricaded in my room or the library. 

Though I wish I could curl up and try to shut out the drowning thoughts that devastated my mind, I needed to be present for this first meal. We needed to show a unified front. Or at least that’s the bullshit Nevanthi had tried to shove down my throat on our gallop a few days ago. I barely remembered the rest of her words, I’d drowned her out so thoroughly.

A knock sounded from my door and my brows furrowed. I was already summoned to dinner by a servant. I met Vesna’s gaze in the mirror. She shrugged then padded over to the door and opened it to reveal none other but Milo. 

Something within me whispered to step closer to him. To talk to him. Anything. I swallowed roughly at the sudden strange desire and shoved it down. 

Vesna curtsied. “My Lord.”

He flashed her a dazzling smile, running a hand through that gorgeous, long jet black hair of his. Those violet eyes met mine and I held his gaze long enough that Vesna had left the room without my noticing. 

“Hello, Keorah. You look breathtaking.” The words were a purr. I merely blinked then stood, dismissing him completely. 

“No introductions? No ‘hello Milo, you’re not looking too shabby yourself’? I pulled this bad boy from the good pile just for you.” He tugged on the collar of his midnight blue suit in emphasis that seemed as though it had been measured and fabricated to hug every single inch of his toned body. But before, when those words would’ve gotten me to play his game of cat and mouse, to tease and taunt him…they incited nothing. Just bleak, cool indifference. 

The only words I offered him were, “Walk me to dinner?”

“You read my mind, angel,” he shot me a smirk as he extended his arm. I wrapped a hand around the crook of his elbow, and suddenly flames burst from his hand. 

It was enough to make me jump back. Panic seized my body, and I looked from him to the nearest sentry who already had their weapons drawn and raised, but Milo only held both his hands up in surrender. “Just a fluke, boys. Magic seems to erupt whenever it feels like in my old age.”

They relaxed a little, but I was still tense, pressed against the nearest wall where I’d nearly made a dent with my futile attempt at protecting myself. Milo’s eyes seemed to be consumed in an emotion I couldn’t quite decipher: fear, concern and…guilt. Shame. Why he felt those things, I had no clue. 

But they were gone in a blink, and he was there beside me once again, offering his arm. His voice was soft and velvety as the night when he offered, “I’m sorry I scared you. It flares up sometimes beyond my control.”

I only nodded once, then said, “Old age, huh?”

It was my pathetic attempt to create conversation between us as we walked down to the dining room. Normally I’d walk by my lonesome, the eyes of the sentries looking more and more enraged as they took in the way my figure had slimmed down. I couldn’t relate to that feeling. 

“Oh yes. When you hit forty you’ll see. My parents had to resort to blend my food because these chompers could barely handle a gods-damn biscuit.”

I let out a tiny snort through my nose. Tiny.

But that noise, that blearing noise that polluted my head all day and gave me the worst headache I’d felt in ages seemed soothed in his presence. Whether it was his company or himself, something about him calmed my mind. I could take a breath without feeling like the four walls around me would cave in. 

“Not to say I’m not having a grand time strolling around with you, angel, but I have absolutely no idea where I’m going.”

“Oh,” I blinked and saw that we’d went three corridors too far and gently pulled him the other way. “Sorry about that. I guess your ageism humour petrified me of what life has to offer in the years ahead.”

“It’s absolutely awful,” he hedged, “creaky knees. Loss of hearing. I think I saw a grey hair yesterday. You younglings don’t realize how good you’ve got it.”

“If you’re complaining this much before we’ve had dinner, then it truly must be past your bedtime.”

A light ignited in his eyes, fierce amusement and joy as they took me in, and before I knew it we were standing at the dining room entrance. He held the door open for me and we separated to take our seats, but not before I murmured under my breath, “The soup isn’t pureed. Will your chompers withstand it?”

Milo’s mouth turned upward into a grin.

Papa was already seated at his usual spot at the head of the table. Rhysand occupied the space two seats down to his left, Milo sliding in that tension-filled space between the two High Lords. Feyre was the face of bored neutrality across my Rhysand, which left me at my usual seat at the right hand of Papa. Quickly, Papa mumbled a blessing for the meal, then uncovered the lids to display butter braised mutton chops with garlic thyme white sauce, oven roasted asparagus and broccoli florets topped with sliced almonds, cranberries and sage. Whipped potatoes and turnips wafted their aroma to mingle with the others, and fresh rolls of doughy, gooey goodness stood in the middle. 

“Your kitchen staff has outdone itself, Tamlin,” Rhysand clucked as he piled a bit of everything onto his plate, as everyone else was doing. I only plucked a single lamb chop and a fork full of vegetables before my stomach began turning over itself at the mere thought of so much sustenance. Milo watched me warily. When our eyes met from across the table, he looked down to the rest of the food, then to me, then to my plate. I quickly found myself interested in a loose thread in my napkin. 

“Well, this visit was supposed to be centred on diplomacy,” Papa drawled, wiping at the corner of his mouth before looking between Rhysand and Feyre. 

“Ah, yes,” Rhysand sighed, leaning back a little more comfortably in his chair. Wine filled the goblets with a snap of his hands, and before Papa could protest, Rhysand assured, “A gift, for your hospitality. Now, diplomacy.”

The three of them, Papa, Feyre and Rhysand launched into an in depth discussion of the seven high lords. Milo and I only kept our eyes down, though when a comment on Helion's salacious ways came up, he shot me a wink which I responded to with a roll of my eyes. I pushed my food around my plate, taking a few bites here and there of lamb or my roll. Everything tasted ashen in my mouth, and the wine did hardly any good to wash it down. 

Milo watched my plate intently as the servants came around to collect the dishes and serve dessert. Mom and I complained more times than I could count that maybe if we just transported the food ourselves magically we'd have a wider budget to spend elsewhere instead of on ourselves and having others run around doing tasks that took half a thought. Papa only said it was a sign of weakness when visitors came, that we needed to show our wealth and power. Mama clucked to me behind closed doors that having others running around carrying plates instead of displaying simple yet effective magic was a sign of clear incompetence.

My mind caught on those words, that face, how it pinched together when laughter overcame her, how we doubled over and smacked each other in our fits of hysterics, and I hadn't realized people were staring at me expectantly until Papa cleared his throat. 

“Sorry?”

“Feyre was asking you about your ring,” Papa pressed, smirking with a pointed look of his. 

My eyes flicked from Papa's to Milo's, who very being stilled as he took in the piece of jewelry adorning my fourth finger. 

“Carrick, a male of the village and I are to be wed on my eighteenth birthday.”

Rhysand cocked his head to the side. “And when would that be?”

“A month from now,” I sipped my rose tea, sending all the steel I had into my hand to not make the cup rattle in its saucer. “It’ll be the happiest day of my life.” The words were bland and dull in my mouth, but Papa beamed nonetheless. 

“Carrick is a promising young male, one of the youngest legion-leaders in my military. I’ve been friends with his parents since his birth, and he’ll make a fine High Lord for the people.”

My head whipped to meet Papa’s gaze, the words flashing through my mind like a blaring red warning sign. “You said _consort_.”

“I changed my mind,” he simply swirled his wine around his goblet, as if my heart wasn’t shredding to pieces, as if my dignity wasn’t being stripped from my person and my title. “I think you need someone with equal power to balance out that fire of yours.”

I wanted to flip something. I wanted to rage and howl and scream from the rooftops, but that would make me no better than him. Carrick being High Lord…he’d challenge me on every change, every decision I brought to this court. He would belittle me and exploit every weakness he could to get his way. So I only nodded and wrung my hands in my lap, waiting until deemed respectful to speed back to my room and curl into a ball until I couldn’t feel anything anymore.

A silence befell the table. As I looked up from my lap, Milo’s eyes were already on mine, a sorrow I hadn’t seen before overtaking his features. And though something within me wanted to wipe that expression off his face, to replace it with a smile, to hear his rich laughter in my ear, I only murmured a polite excuse exiting the dining room without another look at my father or our guests. 

* * *

There were claws—claws everywhere, ripping at my flesh, scraping against my cheek, carving out my being, tearing my very soul from this body, this repugnant, scar-flecked body—

My shreds of my skin lay in ribbons from those claws, and my voice didn’t even have enough strength to scream anymore, just a raspy, awful croaking sound as the pain sliced through me again and again and _again_ —

I opened my eyes expecting to see Papa, to see his contorted mask of rage and lethality, the aggression and bloodlust that lined those features when they turned on me, when the mask melted off his face to reveal the true monster, the true beast beneath—

Only to see the smooth, sharp planes of my mother’s face, that tanned skin and snow-white hair, those crystal blue eyes that contrasted so beautifully against her dark sun-kissed skin. A spitting image of her mixed heritage, of her diverse ancestry that twisted and combined to create the most beautiful and kind person I’d ever come to known. 

“Oh, Keke,” she sighed, bending to kneel beside me, to reach up and gently drag that claw down the side of my cheek. I sobbed through my clench teeth, unable to take in the sight. “Give in already. Death is so sweet compared to this misery.”

I shook my head fiercely. I wouldn’t make her mistake. I couldn’t leave my court behind, my people, they needed an heir, they needed a fair and just ruler—

“It’ll be just us two again,” she murmured. “us two against the world. Don’t you miss me? You would leave your dear mother all alone in the afterworld?”

“You…left me,” I ground out, trying to press away from her, do anything to put some distance between us, but she only chuckled lowly, the sound dark and evil and unfamiliar from her lips. 

“Only so you could follow me once the time was right.” She stood once again, sunlight gleaming within her cold, dead eyes, before she turned once again and the brutality began anew.

I was screaming this time, screaming at the top of my lungs—

Only to wake to a dark empty room, to shake away the covers and reveal the smooth, untouched skin of my arms; the fading slashes that lined my abdomen below my flimsy nightgown. I sighed in relief. 

Seeing my mother like that caused a stir within me, one that made me toss and turn in bed. It sent a flood of images through my mind, moments we’d spent together, her delicate arms and how they’d held me when I wept, her soothing words that reassured me not all was evil in our fucked up world, her daily reminders to find happiness in the little things—

And that void she left behind within me. That void that seemed to be emptying itself out more and more every single day until nothing would remain, just an empty vessel surviving the course of its existence, but never basking in the experience, never truly living.

The thought settled in me like an uncomfortable itch I couldn’t shake away, and I damned my father’s rules as I trudged to my closet to pull on my fighting leathers. Vesna helped me wash them in secrecy away from the watchful eyes of other servants that liked to gossip about the goings-on of the Spring Court. They always managed to find their way up to Papa and landed me in deep, unending shit. 

With one last tug of the leathers, I stared myself down in the mirror, at the skeleton of a girl who stood before me and bit back the urge to snarl with disgust. In a heartbeat I was in the forest, running as fast as my weak knees could carry me.

* * * 

Milo

“Rhysand will roar when he sees what we’ve done,” the voice was nondescript, rough and gravelly like the years had sanded it down to its last dregs. “What a prize, this child will be. Our queen will love it.”

The sweet smelling smoke had cleared the air and left me half drowsy within the dark, and I tried to sit up but was met with hard, unbending wood that made my skin sing in pain at the contact against my forehead. I bit back a yelp as I realized my hands were brushing its sides, my barefoot against its sickly, sickly walls—

I was trapped. In a box. In a hearse. I was trapped, and every thought and instinct and bit of training that’d been drilled within me in my forty-nine years of existence fled my mind as that darkness pressed in closer—

But I couldn’t hold back my screams of agony when my composure broke and the glamour I’d kept on my wings, the invisible pocket that I’d folded them into collapsed and they smacked against the box with a loud thwack. They writhed and screamed and contracted against my body to prevent any contact whatsoever—

“Silence the boy,” came a second, more authoritative voice, distinctly female, yet still unknown to my ears. 

The top of the box peeled open to reveal two cloaked figures against a background of night sky. The box was about two feet deep, four feet wide and eight feet long, just perfect enough to fit my measurements, like this had been planned thoroughly for some time now. Before I could take in any more details that may help my escape, two wicked dark hands reach in to shove a metallic mask over my face, and I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t breathe as that ancient, evil metal sent its tendrils though my body, silencing all hums of power in my veins, completely disconnecting my body from its magic—

Everything felt numbed, contained, until the top of the box slammed back into place, and my screaming began anew.

* * *

It was the same nightmare every time. 

Being forced into the box, hearing those two voices, seeing the cloaked figures then being stifled with that mask and its wicked curse that befell my body at the contact. It always left out the part that I’d gotten out, that Azriel had found me and blasted them to smithereens. That mum and dad had arrived shortly after that and clawed the lid off the box off its hinges with their bare hands, splinters of ash wood be damned.

The female had managed to escape, winnowing away the moment Azriel had slammed his feet into the ground. They’d found me on the western border of Night Court territory where they assumed the pair had been waiting for a third party to show up and hand over their prey for what must have been a handsome price. The hands had taken me in the middle of winnowing from the townhouse to the estate, grabbing me so easily it was as though they’d plucked me from one spot to the other. 

That sickly feeling wouldn’t wash off my skin. No matter how hard I tried to bury myself back into the pillows or curl up into a different position, I remained wide-eyed and full of leftover adrenaline. Sighing, I conjured a pair of fighting leathers I kept within a pocket between the rifts of the world and pulled them on as swiftly as I could before wandering out onto the balcony. 

My fingers itched to wrap around the pommel of my dagger, to lock myself in the bathtub and let my blood run until I got my high. But I ignored it, telling myself it was my last resort. Doing such a thing so close to mum and dad would likely result in discovery. Though so far they hadn’t sniffed anything out yet. I snorted.

The meadows looked so different in the light of the moonlight, flowers kissed by silver beams and glowing with an ethereal hue to them. I sighed at the beauty of the rolling hills that met the night sky where stars dotted the endless navy sea. Nowhere near what one could see in the Night Court, yet heavenly nonetheless. 

A certain tug pulled within my abdomen and I scowled down at it. 

The Cauldron was an abominable, cruel piece of kitchenware. 

When I saw that engagement ring adorning her finger…

I’d never known such pure, lethal rage than that moment. Combined with the lifelessness that plagued her eyes, the full plate she left before her, her utter disinterest for the world around her…

She was an empty shell, a lifeless vessel around that monster. It had to be answer enough to what happened behind closed doors. It had to be enough proof. 

Mum and dad had shaken their heads at me after dinner from within our chambers, claiming we couldn’t whisk her away on mere suspicion and gut feeling. We needed concrete evidence, either firsthand eye witness or a confession from Keorah herself. And, at the utmost worse, having to intervene within a perilous situation. 

I prayed to the Mother it wouldn’t come to that. 

The tug was stronger this time, like a piece of thread pulling on a rib, and I spread my wings to soar down into the evergreens. The wind caught my wings and glided smoothly as I propelled myself through an upward draft and banked into it, veering off to the right. I could sense her presence out here in the forest, smell the tangy scent of lingering fear clinging to her skin and the exhaustion that wore at her very bones. That tuft of blonde hair was running, sprinting for all her body was worth, and soon enough we were neck and neck. Her speed amazed me. She ran almost as fast as I flew. 

I debated leaving her to her moment of peace, to let her be one with the adrenaline, the endorphins, the woods and the open sky, but that selfish, more prominent part of me whispered to go to her. Be with her. Talk to her. 

“Screw it,” I muttered, then banked hard to the left, back-flapping until I landed hard against the forest floor with a whoosh of breath escaping me. The feeling never ceased to awe me, the pure ecstasy of trusting your body to carry you thousands of feet up in the air, having it answer your call and guide you like a needle and thread. 

Keorah’s face was placid and calm as she took me in, her cheeks warm and splotchy with heat. “Are you following me or something?”

“No,” I leaned against a nearby tree, folding my wings carefully behind me. Instead of settling on banter, I offered her a kernel of truth. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Her eyes met mine, and understanding filled them alongside with dread. “Me neither.”

A few brief moments of silence before I latched on to the only thought that seemed coherent enough. “What were you running from?”

Her eyes glinted at the challenge that filled the words, then refuted them with her own. “What are you flying from?”

I shot her a smirk, pushing off the tree to draw closer to her. “I asked you first.”

“And I don’t care,” she drawled, her face puckered in a scowl. “Not used to having somebody refuse you, I’ll bet? Used to getting your way all the time?”

“If I could count on my hands all the times people have refused me, I’d need to grow a hundred extra hands, Keorah.”

The corners of her mouth tilted upwards ever so slightly, and my heart stopped. 

I hadn’t seen her show anything near a smile, not fully, while watching her from within that manor. Not during the entirety of our dinner, nor the brief stroll we took together along the halls. But here, out in the open where no one could see, she showed me the remnants of the happiness that laid within her and a warm feeling spread through my chest at the sight, at her absolute beauty. The leathers she wore hugged her frame and powerful, muscled thighs. With her hair down in a braid, stray pieces of hair hung loosely around her face and framed those beautiful emerald eyes like a goddamn painting. 

She was gorgeous. Every inch of her. 

“I’ve heard quite a few things about you, Milo,” she said, and with a tilt of her head invited me to follow her deeper into the woods. She didn’t see from where she walked ahead of me, but I nearly tripped over my feet at the silent invitation. 

“Like what? My charm? My dazzling looks? No wait, it’s my impressive wingspan—”

“Wow, you really do love the sound of your own voice!” Keorah threw the sarcastic words over her shoulder along with a playful glare, then said, “About your powers, you imbecile. Some say you’ll outshine your parents by a long shot.”

The words never failed to irk me. I hated being compared to them, the most powerful fae to walk the earth. I hated having to live up to that expectation, because I had a sickening feeling that I would fail so miserably with my entire court and family watching—

“Milo?” She asked, looking back to see what had befallen me. 

I cleared my throat. “I do have an…impressive array. By normal standards.”

She snorted. “You make it sound like it’s a curse.”

_You have no idea_ , I wanted to say, but it was too early for those kinds of words. They rushed out of me anyways as we stepped into the clearing, the thicket of trees washing away to reveal a meadow of lilies of the valley standing before a great, big willow tree. In the distance a small pond stood behind it, stagnant in the cool night, reflecting the beauty that shined above us. 

"And what of you, lady of Spring? Rumours say you can mist the bogge with a blink of an eye."

It was her turn to smirk. "Test me, Milo, and you'll find out."

"Alright." I wandered over through the lowers, careful not to crush any, and slumped down beneath the willow tree, enchanted by the lazy movement of its branches. "Show me."

"What?"

"Power for power," I explained, conjuring a glassful of water to hover above the palm of my hand, which slowly morphed into butterflies that I sent hovering above Keo. Her mouth opened in awe at the sight. The way she stood in the dark, gazing with wonder at my magic that surrounded her, made me wish I could stay here forever. 

Closing her eyes, she braced her hands at either side of her, and where before was flat, grassy land, black peonies grew in full bloom, their petals opening up to absorb the silver beams of moonlight. I didn’t realize I was gaping until she crossed her arms with a satisfied smirk. 

“What are you thinking?” She murmured. 

My eyes met hers, and I whispered, “I’m thinking that you’re the most stunning creature I’ve ever seen.”

Her cheeks blushed brightly, and she said, “And why’s that?”

“Oh no, that’s not how this works.” I stood, pushing up off the ground to stand above her. She craned her neck to look up at me, her arms still crossed, and I wanted to brush my fingertips against that smirk that lined her lips. “Power for power, thought for thought.”

“Fine.” Pivoting on her heel, she steeled herself before stomping one foot on the ground, and launching herself up, up, up into the air where she floated nearly thirty feet above the ground. It was like she was standing on an invisible, smooth plane of glass. She folded her legs beneath her and sat cross-legged, staring down at me with her head propped against her hand. 

“How?” I called out to her, unleashing my wings and racing up to her with a powerful flap. I hovered six feet away from her, staring down and marvelling over the brute strength and concentration she’d need to wield such a thing. 

“Wind,” was all she answered, and sent a cool, rose scented mist towards me. “Sit.”

Tentatively, I took a step forward, only to find transparent solid ground beneath me. I planted both feet down. 

Only for it to collapse beneath me, and I was falling, falling so fast and swiftly I let out a bark of panic—

Laughter surged above me, and those invisible tendrils of wind cradled me back up to her, where she indeed held that shield once again, that barrier between levitation and certain death. 

“You wicked thing,” I panted against the panic that’d seized my bones. She only cocked her head to the side, then leaned back on her hands, tilting her head to the sky above us. 

“I’m thinking,” she murmured quietly, “that sometimes I wish I could live a different life.” Short, brief, concise. She wasn’t a fan of sharing, then.

I watched her carefully, scanning for any signs of pain or worry or dread, but only saw true longing. 

“Your turn, batling,” she chided, and it was my turn to roll my eyes. 

Fisting my hands at my sides, I closed my eyes and focused on the pond below us beyond the willow tree. When I opened my eyes once again, it was frozen over, and a flurry of contained snow storm fluttered within the orb-like structure I’d created around it within my mind. It reminded me of the intricately carved snow globes merchants sold in Velaris near the Winter Solstice as gifts for children. When you shook the glass, tiny white particles flowed all about the liquid within like a winter wonderland. 

“I’m thinking that if I could give up these powers, this title, to live quietly and insignificantly, I would. Everyone dreams of this, yet none realize the expectations tied to it. I feel like every step of the way I’m failing my family, my people.”

She held my gaze as intensely as I held hers, then slowly opened her palm to reveal a tiny flame gathering, growing, spreading across her forearm to her chest to her abdomen until her entire body was coated with the fire like a second skin. It only illuminated those emerald eyes, balanced out their cool placid gaze with the burning frenzy that surrounded her. 

“I’m thinking, sometimes my rage consumes me so wholly that I wish I could burn down this entire cursed world just to start over. To give life to something other than the selfish bastards that roam these lands.”

I snorted in agreement, and the flames dimmed until they were confined once again to the palm of her hand. She retracted her fingers so that the flame stood between us and illuminated our faces in the dark. 

With a gentle breath, I willed my skin to shine with that kernel of light within me until my skin glowed luminescently. Keorah’s eyes widened at the sight, and without hesitation she reached to grab my wrist, turning it over in between her cold, slender hands. She couldn’t see the scars beneath. She only felt smooth, uninterrupted skin, and I wished I could see hers. Not the one she showed me, but whatever was lying underneath.

“You’re freezing,” I murmured and willed some warmth into my hands. She let out an imperceptible sigh and gripped my skin. I almost purred at the touch, the distance between us that began getting smaller and smaller with each piece we offered of ourselves. 

“Can I ask you something, angel?”

She curled her lip at the name. “Keorah.”

“Angel,” I repeated, and she only shook her head with an exasperated expression adorning her features, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fi—”

“I know I have not known you long. But I sense you well enough that it seems like that is a lie.” She swallowed, unable to meet my eyes, so I gave her hands a gentle squeeze, and curled them tighter within my grasp. “Tell me truly what you are feeling.”

“Why do you care?”

I couldn’t tell her. If she hadn’t felt it, if she hadn’t felt that bond snap into place…She needed to find it on her own. I would not, would _never_ force such a thing upon her.

“Because I have let few people in my life, even fewer that I call friends,” I murmured, “but I look at you and believe that it would be easy to let you in. Even easier to call you my friend. And I don’t like seeing my friends in pain.”

Keorah closed her eyes at the words, then said, “You know what happened.”

I nodded. “Your mother.”

Silence was a cruel thing between us, and when she looked up from her lap, her eyes were filled with tears. 

My heart broke, again and again and again and again.

 

Keorah

There was something in the utter kindness and gentleness with which he said the words that unleashed something within me and let those tethers snap, that broke the dam and released everything I’ve been holding back since she died. Tears threatened to spill over onto my cheeks but I blinked them away. Not here, not now, and especially not in front of this stranger. I let go of his hands and backed away. 

“She’s dead,” I quipped quietly, unable to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing much else to say about it."

“Angel,” Milo murmured.

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, and stood, ready to leave. He couldn’t get under my skin. He couldn’t see what was really there, and I hated that some part buried within me tugged at those words. A thread tugged at me—

It was there one moment, then gone the next. 

“Keorah,” he said once more, softly this time. 

My eyes flicked up to meet his and there was guilt there. Guilt and—something else. I couldn't describe it. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry.”

Instead of snapping at him again, I only said, “Goodnight, Milo.”

I folded myself to dust and rose-scented wind and found myself once again in my room. 

It was dark and cold. Something was roaring in my mind. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t form coherent thoughts as my mind skipped over images of Mama, of her teaching me how to read late at night in the dark by the light of her fire, of her urging the kitchen staff to leave only so she could prepare a traditional Peregryn meal for me to show me what her culture was like, of her squeezing my fingers as I tried to mend the scratch wounds lining her stomach—

I ran for the bathroom and began hurling the contents of my stomach over and over again against the cool, porcelain bowl. The images kept flashing across my mind, how pale her skin was beneath the warm bathwater, how her lips were stained with the juices of the night berries, and her body was limp as I tried to drag it out of the water—

I heaved over and over again until nothing came out. I didn’t know at which point I started crying, but I was sobbing, clutching my frail body for dear life as I realized how much I missed her. I was so alone in this cruel, loathsome world without my best friend by my side, the only person I could trust throughout my miserable existence.

She was gone. Forever. 

_Mama is dead._

I tried to deny it. It felt so unreal. That crushing feeling was there, but it only finally settled when I spoke the words aloud, such pitiful broken things slipping from my mouth as I wiped the excess bile. “Mama is dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed it! Thanks again for all your sweet comments and kudos, I'll be updating tomorrow night!  
> Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	6. Blades and Tattoos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illyrians face off Spring Court sentries in the sparring ring. Milo *finally* takes his shirt off.  
> Below I've inserted some pictures, the first being some fan art I found on pinterest that literally looks EXACTLY how I pictured Milo and Isra with daddy Rhys. The second being the all-too-glorious Avan Jogia (whom I picture as our dear Milonius) shirtless, as he will be depicted in this chapter.  
> Trigger warning: mention of self-harm scars.

[ Daddy Rhys and baby Milo and Isra](https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/859272803880786736/)

[the glorious shirtless Avan Jogia (aka Milo)](https://www.google.ca/search?biw=1440&bih=654&tbm=isch&sa=1&ei=H7UEXNDkMOOI_QaZ25uoBA&q=avan+jogia+shirtless&oq=avan+jogia+shirtless&gs_l=img.3..35i39.12302.15465..15697...1.0..0.63.639.11......1....1..gws-wiz-img.......0i7i30j0i7i5i30.pusPTe-2oYQ#imgdii=WE2YzWhrHKe1TM:&imgrc=aI-2w66QvJjNRM:)

 

 

_ CHAPTER 6 _

Keorah

Papa wasn’t present at breakfast the ne xt morning. 

I let out a sigh of relief as I entered the dining hall where pastries, fruit, oatmeal and breakfast meats had been laid out along with coffee and tea. Nobody else had arrived yet, so I lounged and sipped from my coffee which would hopefully help with the exhaustion that racked my mind. My eyelids drooped and I tilted my head back to stretch the knots in my neck, my mouth slightly open at the sweet release it gave my muscles. I hadn’t been able to sleep well last night after the bout of vomiting, but I’d finally settled between my sheets after rocking myself back and forth within the washroom. I hadn’t cried like that since before Mama died, but I felt better this morning. As though some weight eased off my chest, if only for a sweet moment. My mind felt a little less foggy, my limbs a little lighter than usual.

“That’s an interesting position.” The words pierced through the static of my mind.

I threw a vulgar gesture towards the entrance of the dining room, knowing just from the sound of his voice that it was Milo. 

“Stick with me Milo, and I’ll show you interesting positions.” I straightened my neck and he game me a wink as he sat down. There was a glimmer of fierce amusement in his eyes as he sat across from me. 

“It is too early in the morning to be hearing sexual innuendos from you two,” Feyre grimaced as she slid in beside me. Rhysand grinned as he took in Milo’s eye roll. The ambience this morning was far more amicable and warm than it had been last night, and I could only blame it on the absence of the male at the end of the table. 

“And where has your father gone off to today?”

I shrugged as I swirled my oatmeal around my bowl. “My head lady Vesna mentioned something about the eastern border.” As long as he’s gone, I couldn’t care less. 

“Well now, seems as though you’re in charge today,” Feyre elbowed me gently, and I nearly gawked at the sight: our sworn enemies sitting at breakfast with me, joking and nudging each other as though we’d known each other for decades. 

“What is it?” Milo mused as he took in my wary expression. He chewed on a chocolatine, and I resisted the urge to lean over the table and wipe the smear of chocolate on the corner of his mouth. 

I said quietly, “You’re all just so…”

“Charming?” Feyre.

“Attractive?” Rhysand. I snorted at that.

“Irritating?” Milo.

“No, you’re just all so… _normal_.”

Feyre let out a rich laugh that I wanted to curl myself into. “Believe me dear, we are far from it.”

“We’re just very good at pretending,” Rhysand said before sipping from his tea. 

“I think what they mean to say is that there are times when we need to be serious and pull rank and demonstrate power,” Milo interjected, “and there are times when we just need to be a ordinary family.”

My mouth threatened to curl into a smile, but it disappeared as I asked my next question. “And what do you think of the atmosphere here?”

A loaded, difficult question. One that instilled silence for a few moments. 

“I think this place needs a little more fun,” Rhysand’s eyes were mischievous. It took everything within me not to gawk at the most powerful High Lord to ever exist looking _mischievous_. He, as the rest of us, was a lot more laid back this morning without the presence of Papa bearing down on us. 

“And what would you suggest?” I questioned, cocking my head to the side. 

“A sparring session will definitely brighten this place up.” He stabbed at a piece of melon, and when his gaze met mine, he was smiling and pointing his raised fork at me. “It’s time to show you how Illyrians fight.”

* * *

The guards nearly had to peel their jaws from the floor as I walked past them in my Peregryn leathers. I’d only ever warn them after dark or deep in the woods with Mama where no unwanted eyes could see me, yet Rhysand and Feyre and Milo sparked some courage I didn’t even know I had within me. The courtyard at the back of the manor had been set up with the same sparring pads they used to train the new sentry recruits. The sun shone down upon the rows of rose bushes that grew on either side of the path that meandered through the courtyard. Sentries lined the wall of the manor every ten feet. They were in for a show this morning. 

Feyre stood beside the ring as Rhysand and a guard faced off. I was surprised that the guard had lasted this long, though a trail of blood flowed from his nose. Illyrians, it seemed, fought dirty, relying not only on their weapons but delivering hard and efficient blows in the moments in between steel clanged against steel. Within minutes the guard was disarmed on the ground, panting and raising his hands in surrender. Rhysand only smirked and crooked his finger towards Feyre. “Time to play, Feyre darling.”

Feyre rolled her eyes and stepped into the ring as the guard peeled himself from the ring. Milo wandered over to watch from beside me. 

“This is going to be fun.”

I didn’t take my eyes off of the pair dancing menacingly before me as I asked, “And why’s that?”

“Because they are nearly equals in all ways that count, including physical strength,” Feyre feigned left then dove right, swinging her arm to deliver a fatal swing to Rhysand’s side, yet the latter easily deflected it with an upwards slash of his blade. “And they make these…bets.”

“Oh?”

“Whoever wants their… _favour_ the most usually ends up winning.” Milo’s cheeks flushed red.

I snorted. “Now that’s the kind of bond I want in life.”

I didn’t look to Milo’s burning stare. Only kept myself focused on the way Feyre and Rhysand’s bodies moved with such brutal cohesiveness and synchronicity only perfected with the years they’d spent together and that sacred bond they shared. The bond that never had quite snapped into place for Mama and Papa. 

Magic had been off the table when battling the sentries, yet between these two, all bets were off. Feyre would dive forward to winnow behind Rhysand with her blade aiming between his shoulders, only to be met with a cloud of darkness surrounding her vision so her blow couldn’t meet its mark. With a swing of her arm the cloud disappeared, and the two were smirking at each other once more, a silent conversation passing between the two. 

“Who will you spar with?”

“Whoever wins,” he said. “And it seems like that’s going to be…dad.”

Indeed, Rhysand had managed to pin Feyre to the ground in the mere seconds I looked away from them, and she was laughing at the gleam in her mate’s eyes. “Guess what we’re doing after I kick our son’s ass?”

Milo grimaced as Rhysand extended a hand to help Feyre from the ground. “Please, parents, we have a _joint bedroom_.”

“Hasn’t stopped us before,” Feyre muttered under her breath as she came to stand beside me once again. 

“By the Cauldron—mum, I don’t need to hear these things—”

Rhysand barked a laugh. “Oh calm down, Milonius, you were a newborn. We were quiet enough.” 

He grumbled something else under his breath and I bit my lip to keep from grinning. 

The urge was completely wiped off my face, though, as both Rhysand and Milo peeled their shirts off. 

Both males’ bodies seemed like they’d been chiseled by the gods. Milo’s chest and abdomen was pure lean muscle hardened by years of brutality, training and rigorous exercise he must’ve undergone to be an Illyrian warrior. That smooth tanned skin was only further accentuated by the inky swirls that adorned his chest and upper arms, one reaching down all the way to this tips of his left fingers. I peeked down to see that Feyre and Rhysand also had a similar one, all three on their left hands. An unbreakable family unit. I wish I could say the same. 

My eyes travelled up and down that toned body once more, and I swallowed, knowing I wouldn’t take my eyes off this match. 

Rhysand wasn’t coy like before when facing off with his mate. His taunting smile was as much games he would play before striking. Milo easily deflected the blow and used his father’s distraction to slam his elbow into Rhysand’s back, which earned a grunt from him. He swung himself around, his blade along with it, and swiped down only to be bounced off of Milo’s sword. They moved with such grace it almost deemed like a dance. 

To see those muscles in motion made my knees weak at the utter strength and power he could unleash with them. 

So fast I barely saw it, Milo made a swipe for Rhysand’s face, so quickly the latter didn’t have time to shield himself from it. Blood bloomed within the cut. Rhysand _smiled_. _Proudly_. I could never imagine such a thing, never from Papa. 

“You’re getting better, son. That usually takes you fifteen minutes.”

“I am better,” he said matter of factly, sounding barely winded. “You’ve been sitting on your ass a little too much these past few decades, father. Nobody’s cared to tell you you’re slowing down.”

This incited a bark of laughter from Rhysand and Feyre, and Rhysand must say something to Milo using his daemati abilities because he looses a growl and his slashes become faster and more powerful. 

 

Milo

_And you’re going to tell me that your sudden improvement isn’t due to the girl standing outside the ring?_ Dad quirked his eyebrow at me, and I loosed a growl at the dangerous territory he was venturing into. I threw myself into my next jab aimed to his side and he smiled. 

_She’s watching you, you know_ , he tried to sweep my feet from under me with a slide of his leg but I easily jumped to dodge them then brought my blade down upon his shoulder. He rolled out from underneath me and clambered swiftly to his feet. _With your shirt off, she’s probably thinking dirty, dirty things_ —

The yell that tore itself from my throat was near feral as I winnowed out of the way of his jab and stood behind him, where instead of aiming for his back, I sent a quick kick to the back of his bad knee. He crumpled beneath the blow only to meet the edge of my blade barely skimming the skin of his neck. “I think I win.”

“Indeed, son.” I pulled my blade away and sheathed it back into my belt, then reached out a hand pull my father to his feet. He was beaming with pride, but my instincts were still balking at those words, at the utter arrogance and ignorance with which he addressed my mate—

I shook my head to clear it of its vile, violent thoughts aimed towards my father. Clearing my throat, I stared at the beauty who watched me from the edge of the ring, a curious look upon her face as her eyes met mine. 

“Oh, Keorah,” I drawled. “Time to play.”

She scoffed. “You really think I’m fighting you?”

“You’re dressed the part.”

Taking a quick look down at her leathers, she sighed. “I suppose I am.” Without further hesitation, she stepped into the ring. Sitting sheathed in her belt were three different blades, one short dagger at the front of her hips, two longer ones at either side. Her nimble fingers glided over her blonde hair as she pulled it into a loose braid. She chucked it over her shoulder then smiled wickedly at me as she unsheathed two twin steel blades with curved ends to them. The golden pommels held tiny carvings over the entirety of their surfaces.

I stared down at my bare abdomen. Above the glamor laid smooth, toned skin hardened by years of rigorous exercise and training. Beneath laid scarred flesh, great big gashes and cuts that I never allowed to heal. I felt so vulnerable despite the fact that I knew they couldn’t see anything, but just one slip up and I would reveal all to them—

“What do those tattoos mean?” She pointed the tip of her blades to the swirls adorning my chest and biceps. My gaze snapped up to meet hers, the panic ebbing if only for a moment.

“Luck and glory on the battlefield,” I replied, a swaggering smirk on my lips that almost always incited males to throw the first punch. Her gaze was hard and cold as she stared at them, then at me, but there was a certain light dancing within her eyes that hadn’t been there the day before. 

I nodded my head towards her blades. “What do those markings mean?”

“Luck and glory on the battlefield,” she echoed and mimicked my low voice, raising both pieces of fine steel and sending me a menacing look. Mum and dad snorted from the sidelines. I shot them an ‘are you kidding me’ look, which only made my mother cover her mouth as she laughed harder.

I raised my own blade. Though she seemed mighty and powerful before me, I knew that her leathers were loose on her. I knew that her waist was so thin she nearly disappeared when she stood perpendicular to me. I knew that though those muscled thighs could carry her faster than the wind itself, they were probably shrinking from the malnutrition. I gave her the fun of the game, but when she met my first strike, the blow was so weak I had to fake a back step. 

Mom and dad could tell, and the humour and light that’d filled the air before drained. 

She struck again and again and again, and I met each of her blows with more force, more power, and I could see that desperate, pleading look that began to capture her eyes. She was panting, yet she didn’t stop, slicing left and right with those deadly blades she wielded expertly—

“What is the meaning of this?”

The words rumbled from the back steps of the manor, my head whipped to see that Tamlin stood utterly still, a look of pure wrath contorting his features. That moment of hesitation cost me as Keo was halfway through a kick to my stomach. 

I fell back when her foot hit my stomach, more from surprise than force. Her face became a mask of pure horror as she took in her father stalking quietly towards us. Nonetheless, she steeled herself with a steadying breath and turned to face him head on. 

 

Keorah

“Papa, please—”

“Get inside,” was all Papa growled. 

I looked to Rhysand and Feyre who stood silent behind him, casting each other weary looks before Rhysand quietly interrupted, “It was my idea, Tamlin. Don’t blame the girl.”

“Do not speak for which you do not know,” Tamlin growled, not even bothering to meet Rhysand’s gaze, which now simmered with displeasure. Papa’s emerald eyes burned through mine. “Inside.”

“Papa—”

“Now.”

I did not bother resisting more and sheathed my blades before running up the back steps and into the great hall. Knowing already he’d want to meet me in his study, where we always had our brawls, my feet carried me heavily to the lower east wing. I hadn’t even realized that I’d left Milo on the ground before me out on that ring, but it didn’t matter the second Papa’s voice had befallen the courtyard. 

Bursting through the wooden doors to his study, I began pacing along the length of the room, trying to shut out the memories this room held for me, trying to steady the pounding of my heart within my chest. He wouldn’t hurt me while they were here. He wouldn’t hurt me when too many prying ears were listening. 

Nonetheless, he barged through the oak doors and nearly knocked them off their hinges. His claws were already out and I flinched at the sight and their fierce reminder of the foul dream I had last night. 

“What were you doing with that boy?” He yelled the words with such ferocity that I flinched and backed away as he closed that distance between us too quickly. His face was flushed red. I could barely hear the sound of my thoughts rushing through my head trying to grasp at a lie, an excuse, anything—

“Out with it!” His hands grabbed my upper arms and slammed me into the wall. 

I bit back a cry of pain, then closed my eyes, and choked out, “We were just training, Papa. That’s all.”

He released me, and I dropped to the floor so hard I whimpered, curling my arms around myself to provide any kind of protection. He’d only make it worse if I used my magic, if I showed any kind of power that could defy his. 

Papa’s hands were shaking as he took slow steps away from me. “And you think that dancing around the court yard with another male when you are betrothed sends a good message? What will the Court think of that? What will Carrick think of that?”

My arms fell from around me, and the tears of outrage fell from my eyes as I cried, “I don’t care about Carrick! You’re the one that bloody well _sold_ me to highest bidder like a gods-damn mare!”

He pivoted on his heel and was before me so fast I could barely blink before those claws scraped across my cheek.

Blood began pouring from the wound all over the floor, all over the fighting leathers, and he only swallowed hard at the sight. “Do not ruin your engagement, Keorah, or you will find yourself in ashes.” Without another word he stalked away from the room.

I only curled up where I was and cupped my cheek. He could ruin my body, my back, my soul, but my _face_ , my _identity_ …

I willed my healing powers to the wound and clotted the bleeding, then slowly began mending the skin, glueing the ribbons of shredded flesh back together as carefully as I could with my limited concentration. The glamour covering the rest of my scars thickened further to stretch across my face, to hide yet another piece of my destruction.

And once I was done, I pushed off from the floor and ran to my room to peel off my clothes and bury myself into the warm, comforting darkness of my sheets.

 

Milo

I'd been pacing across our room from the moment I heard the slam. 

"I need to go see her," I couldn't shake the image of Tamlin's contorted face from my mind. The way she tried to protest, tried to overrule his claws of control, yet gave in as she'd probably done Cauldron knows how many times before...

"No," mum said quietly. "we can't interrupt if we were dismissed."

"The entire manor was _shaking_."

"It doesn't matter," dad said. "Now stop pacing, you'll wear holes into the damned carpet."

"That prick deserves more than just a holey carpet."

Mum grunted in approval and rubbed at her temples. There were dark circles under under her eyes, and I could only imagine what was going through her head, the memories of the Spring Court that haunted her nightmares. 

Mum only stared down at her feet and the silence encompassed us. For a second I forgot about my mate and the state of danger she could be in right now just below our feet or wherever she’d disappeared off to after she ran inside. Tamlin had only told us he was ‘sorry for her behaviour’ before rushing off after her. We’d stared at each other with tight expressions, but then I heard that slam, and felt the utter horror freeze her bones through that shared bond. I wanted to tear Tamlin to shreds for what he may have done to my mate.

“There’s definitely something going on,” mum whispered, and I looked up at the sound of her broken voice to see that there were tears upon her face. Dad’s expression was one of utter devastation. 

“I look at that girl and it’s like I’m looking in a mirror,” she breathed. I held my breath. It wasn’t often we all got emotional around each other, but when we did, it always managed to break my heart, yet that pain we expressed brought us closer together. “That’s exactly what I felt.”

“You got out,” dad reminded her gently, pulling her into his side once more. She collapsed into him, and the sight of my mother sobbing instantly had me on my feet and by her side, hugging her around her waist. Mum gripped me to her and dad covered her hands, three souls twining together to alleviate the hurting.

 

Keorah

I did not let Vesna scrub at my skin in preparations for dinner. 

No, I sat in my tub, curled up against the porcelain, and loosened that glamour, my scarred naked body staring back up at me, each mark on my skin bringing a fresh horror to mind. 

The first one came when I was twelve years-old. Papa had gotten terribly angry at Mama for reasons I couldn’t recall, and when I tried standing up for her, I got in the way between her and Papa’s fist. He’d struck me in the shoulder and nearly shattered the bone. 

Back then, he felt so guilty, wouldn’t stop apologizing for days, and wouldn’t leave my side until he was assured that I felt no residing fear or anger towards him. Those were the days when he could still feel things like remorse and guilt and shame. But over the years, when the temper got the best of him, that sick, dark part began to reign in his mind. Those feelings slowly drifted away to reveal a cruel, callous male honed by wrath and resentment. That’s when the first claw marks came at the age of fourteen when he found me attempting to use my magic, slicing me from shoulder to hip. Mama and I didn’t speak to him for weeks. From there, it only got worse, until I was a prisoner in my own home, in my own mind, constantly monitoring my actions, words and ideas, afraid that they’d upset or disrespect him in some way. Whenever I fell out of line, a beating or a lashing ensued. Sometimes that pain was the only reminder I was still alive. 

It wasn’t just me that took it. Mama had carried the brunt of it long before me, when that temper only showed up sparsely yet still as brutally, but once he turned it against me as well, it was open season on the both of us. 

And now that she was gone, I was his only remaining punching bag. 

Even with my healing powers, the marks had scarred. And now, no matter how many times I tried, those five jagged lines extending from the top of my right cheek down to my chin still remained. 

I didn’t even have the strength or energy to cry. I just stared at myself blankly in the mirror through the glamour as Vesna pulled my hair into an up-do. Paired with the gauzy, cream gown that settled loosely upon my figure, I looked like an imposter in this body, in this dress, in this life. The dull dead eyes that stared back up at me only confirmed my feelings. 

“Thank you, Vesna,” I said quietly, and stood for the door. 

“Wait, Keke—”

I turned, and the look in my eyes made her take a step back. “Never mind, my lady.”

She’d never called me that. Since she was taking care of me as a girl, she’d never called me that, and the fear that I sensed when she took in my expression—

I didn’t care. No, at this point, I didn’t care much at all. 

* * *

The tension at the dining table was so thick and tangible that I could practically reach out and slice it with my knife. We ate in silence save for the blessing of the meal, the scraping of silverware against our plates the only sound echoing off the manor’s walls. Milo had tried to meet my gaze, snag my attention, anything to try and communicate what had happened in those hours apart, but I ignored him. Whatever friendship he thought lied between us… I couldn’t risk my father’s rage for it. Especially after the threats he made this afternoon.

Rhysand and Feyre also shared hard, wary glances every now and then. Papa paid them no attention, paid Milo and I no attention, only chewed hard on the roast buttery chicken that I pushed around my plate, appetite completely forgotten after today’s events. 

I nearly jumped when Papa asked, “You have another child, yes?”

Feyre set her fork down and reached for her wine, provided once again by Rhysand. “Yes, a little girl.”

“And how old is she?”

“Nearly five years.”

Papa grunted with approval, taking a deep sip from his chalice. “Planning to have any more?”

Rhysand shrugged. “Whatever the Mother has in store for us.”

“Lovely little family,” Papa clucked, then chuckled to himself. Milo nearly sneered at him, at the condescension in his voice. “Do you suspect who will take your place one day? Yet how will that work, when there are two places to fill?”

It was Rhysand’s turn to set his silverware down, a hard shadow taking over his expression. “Any of our children are powerful, wise and strong enough to take the position. No matter if it is Milonius or Isra or whomever else we will be blessed to have enter our family, they will make the choice whether they _want_ a significant other, and if they do, whether that significant other is worthy of the position.”

“Isra,” Papa said the name like he was testing a flavour on his palate. Rhysand went still as death. “What a lovely female, your sister was.”

“Enough Tamlin.” The growl was Feyre’s, for Rhysand was only staring straight ahead as though he could see this female, Rhysand’s sister who I’d never heard of before. It must’ve been a sensitive subject by the way Rhysand froze up so suddenly. 

Wisely, Papa knew to shut his mouth, to not piss off the people we were trying to mend relations with. Nonetheless, he’d created a further rift between us and them, one that I knew would cost us. How could he expect to fix things with them by being such an asshole?

I tried to sweep in, to do damage control as the servants cleared the plates. Milo once again gave me that piercing look of his, at me and at my full plate I’d left untouched. I dismissed him entirely. 

“Tell me of your court,” I asked quietly. “I’ve never been. What is it like?”

The look of longing and adoration that overcame Feyre’s face was answer enough to the love she had for her home, for her city. She began to describe a land filled with wonder and dreams and light despite the horrors that had been described to me by snivelling members of my court. She spoke of a city of starlight where peace and art and life thrived, where people could be themselves unforgivingly and find a home anywhere they pleased. Milo’s expression softened at the mention of his hometown, and compared to the Spring Court and the limited lifestyle we lead, I found myself wishing I could build something exactly like that within this land of rebirth, of life, of hope. But I knew that if Carrick would indeed be sworn as High Lord, that change would never come. 

The conversation I’d created was enough to ease that awful energy that’d been choking us before, and when dessert was over, our guests left in peace, not anger. I walked with them through the great hall, and Milo fell into step with me. 

“Care for a stroll?”

“Not tonight.” Feyre and Rhysand continued ahead of us, and Papa had left to his study, leaving us alone in the spaciousness of the manor. 

“Angel, talk to me.” His hands stopped to grip my shoulders, and I released a sigh. 

“Not tonight,” I said once again with quiet dismissal. My footsteps echoed against the marble floors as I steeled myself for yet another night of silence and solitude.

“No.”

The word made me pause, then turn back around to see that Milo’s gaze was filled with unrelenting determination. In three strides he stood less than a foot away from me, our faces so close together we practically shared the same breath. 

“Everyone in this fucking place keeps tiptoeing around you,” he breathed, his fingers tilting my chin up to meet his burning, piercing eyes. “But I won’t. I will _not_ watch you waste away to nothing, I will _not_ stand idly by as you fall apart before my very eyes.”

“Who says I am falling apart?” I replied with equal bite and sharpness. “Who says that I am wasting to nothing? And who the hell says that you have _any_ place to waltz into my life and pretend you know anything about me?”

“Because I see you!” His voice was loud and made me flinch, so he dropped it once again to a hush. “I see you barely eating, I see you filled with despair and dread and you seem so lifeless. I know what it is like to fall into that hole of desperation and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.” His breathing was uneven. He swallowed hard, then stared down at his feet as he said, “I can’t bear to watch you like this. So please.” His fingers tightened ever so slightly at that word, and there was a roughness to his voice that made my heart soften. “Please just talk to me. Spend time with me. Let me help you take that weight off your chest.”

“Why?” My vision swam with tears at the warmth and compassion behind his words. No one, no one other than Lucien or Mama had ever shown me anything close to what this stranger was displaying towards me.“Why do you care?”

“I told you, angel,” his thumb stroked gently across my cheek to wipe my tears away. I had half a mind to back away from his touch, but in that moment it was so soothing that I resisted the urge to lean into it. “You’re my friend. I don’t like seeing my friends in pain.”

In that great hall, we both stared at each other, really stared into each other, before I reached up to curl my hand around his, and tugged him to the direction of my room.

* * *

Milo expertly shuffled the pack of cards. 

It was the only thing I could think of doing as I pulled him into my room and quietly shut the door behind us. Though I knew the nearby sentries would alert my father of Milo and I’s comings and goings, I decided I didn’t really care anymore. There wasn’t much skin left for him to mark anyways. After staring at each other in silence for a few moments, it was the first thing that came to mind. 

On days when I’d find myself bored to tears, Bron and Hart took me out into the village pub. They did so under Papa’s nose, telling themselves we were disguised, well concealed, and if any danger came to us they would protect me. From a young age I’d learned the townspeople’s games, from poker to blackjack to crib, the bets we waged and money we won was a testament tothe skills and strategy I’d mastered. It’d been months since they’d taken me, but my tricks hadn’t quite left me yet. 

“You’d make Cassian and Azriel weep right now,” Milo muttered as he dropped his hand once again. I snickered and pulled the gold marks closer to my growing stack. Milo’s had dwindled to nothing in the hours we’d played. 

“Whom might they be?”

“My uncles,” he supplied with a wrinkle of his nose, though his eyes were flecked with admiration. “They’re a part of the Night Court’s Inner Circle and they married my mother’s sisters.”

“What do they do for your court?”

“Azriel is our spymaster. He can infiltrate any place, find any piece of information, can break a man with just a look his eyes. Cassian’s the commander of all the Night Court’s armies. My father has seen him take down dozens of men with his right hand while holding his guts with his left.”

I lounged further against my rocking chair. Milo pushed aside the small wooden table holding our cards and marks to pull his chaise closer to mine. There was something within me that constantly whispered to get closer to him, to touch him, to talk to him and get that smile of his—

I squashed the wave of thoughts. “Are they Illyrian as well?”

“Yes. Bastard-born, but Illyrians nonetheless.” The light that danced in his eyes was answer enough that the males, his uncles, had a special place in his heart. 

I reached for his hand curled around the armrest of the chaise and pulled it closer to me so I could scan the lines that swirled up the length of his forearm. Pushing back the sleeve, I gawked at the beauty of the navy ink that danced along his skin in patterns, swirls and stars until they blended with the ancient marks of his Illyrian tattoos I knew extended to his chest and right bicep. 

“What does this one mean?” I asked as I brushed my fingertips over the smooth, rich terra-cotta skin. I could hear his heart beating wildly, and I didn’t think he was even breathing. 

“My mother, father and I all have the same one, and Isra will have it too one day should she choose she likes it.” His voice softened as he spoke of his little sister. “It’s a family bond, a bargain we swore to each other when my sister was born that we’d protect each other at all costs until our last dying breath.”

I blinked at the love and devotion within those words. How a family could care for each other so deeply, while mine had been a horror story…

“It’s beautiful,” was all I trusted myself to say.

The silence stretched a few moments longer until I realized I was still brushing my fingers back and forth along his skin. I carefully withdrew my hands and asked, “So these tattoos originate from bargains?”

“It’s an ancient way my court decided to mark bargains and promises. There’s a certain magic to the tattoo that holds the person accountable to the exact terms of the bargain and does not let the person break it, only should it defy the laws of the living. Meaning you can’t make a bargain with somebody that forces them to live if they are on the brink of death. Its magic can’t prevent the course of life.”

“The markings are just so breathtaking.”

Milo was quiet for a moment before he stood from his chair, then kneeled carefully before me. My heart thudded quickly in my chest at the wonder that filled his expression when he looked up at me. 

“Would you like one?”

I didn’t think I was breathing. 

“Yes,” I uttered. I didn’t know why I was making such brash decision, but that cursed voice within me was delighted, was screaming the word, yes, yes—

“Keorah, angel,” he winked and I scowled, “I promise to protect you in every way I can, to comfort you when you are hurting. What will you do in exchange?”

My brain racked itself for something, anything I could offer the male on his knees before me, and grasped at a singular thought. 

“I promise,” I rasped, “to be your friend, to show you kindness and compassion even on my dark days. I promise you that no matter the rift between our courts, no matter the history between our parents, you will always find a friend here at the Spring Court with me, Milonius.”

His nose wrinkled at the mention of his full name, which made the corners of my mouth tilt up. He took my hands in his and gently whispered, “Then it is a bargain.”

A cool, tingling sensation, then—

I gasped down at my arm. Where smooth, unmarked skin laid above my glamour, now stood swirls and whorls of darkness, tendrils of night and rose thorns extending from my right elbow down to my fingers. It was breathtaking. 

I stared down to see his right hand was covered with the same art that adorned mine. 

Tentatively, I wrapped my hand around his until our fingers were intertwined between us, silence encompassing our figures in the dim light of my room was we stared into each others eyes. 

Those violet eyes soothed the storm within my mind. They convinced me that I could try to open myself to him, that I could be who I was with him. With Milo. 

My friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed! Got a lot of future drafting done today and let's just say that this story really grew from what I originally thought this was going to be. Like bruh... y'all aren't ready.  
> Hope you're having a great morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	7. Cards and Disputes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah's fiancee makes an impromptu visit. Keorah takes Milo on a grand tour of the Spring Court. Tamlin decides to throw an engagement party for the bride and groom to be.  
> Trigger warning: graphic depictions of self-harm and suicidal ideation.

_ CHAPTER 7 _

Milo

My knuckles rapped against the pale wooden door with a flourish, and the face that greeted me could’ve brought me to my knees. 

In the early morning light shining through the window, her blonde hair flourished and glowed within its natural state swishing around her torso. It was nearly down to her hips when not expertly braided or pulled into a bun. Keo’s emerald eyes were rich and soft, and her face seemed a little less gaunt and lifeless than it had the first time I saw her nearly three days ago now. In three days, I’d met my mate. In three days, I’d befriended her, developed a bond, a relationship, despite the fact she was my enemy’s daughter, despite the fact that the horrors we’d recently faced kept threatening to shatter us wholly. Within the darkness that surrounded us we still managed to find each other. 

Her gown today was the shade of lilac mauve. Its long sleeves highlighted her slender arms and tight bodice accentuated her curves so exquisitely I wanted to tear the thing off of her right now and show her just how good of a friend I could be. There was a cut out in the middle of the dress right where her heart was and a small patch of smooth skin stared back up at me. Her right hand, though, showed no trace of the bargain we’d made last night, and the question in my eyes must’ve been obvious. 

“I can’t just show up to breakfast with a tattoo,” her eyes casted downwards in shame. “Papa wouldn’t exactly be pleased.”

“A glamor?”

She nodded, and with half a thought, where ink had been moments before, my right hand was bare, covered by the second skin surrounding my body. What a dangerous game we liked to play. When I’d stared down at that tattoo last night once I found myself in bed, it was comforting to see the scar-covered skin being drowned out by the soothing patterns that swirled up my forearm. Where before lay a battlefield of pain now promised hope for something better. She didn’t know just how much of a gift it was to have flesh that couldn’t be interrupted by the slash of my dagger.

“I understand, angel.” 

“ _Keorah_.”

“Yes, angel, you know how to say your name. Now, let’s go to breakfast, shall we?”

She let out a groan of frustration, yet hooked her arm around my elbow anyway, and my laughter guided us down the halls of the manor to the dining room. 

* * *

The dining table held one extra chair today. 

There, seated where Keorah usually sat, was a hulking brute of a male with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes. His expression was mildly irritated as Keorah and I walked in linked by the arm. Tamlin mirrored the expression while mum and dad remained bored, unimpressed, though the tension that filled the air was opaque. I wanted to sigh. Another morning of court dramatics. 

But when I looked down to Keorah, she did not glance back up at me. Only disentangled herself from me and wrung her fingers together, and the emerald engagement ring caught the sunlight filtering in through the nearby windows—

Engagement ring. 

The male that stood from his chair and bowed deeply to my mate was her fiancee. 

She curtsied, then hurried to join his side, where he laid a kiss on her cheek and damn near made me smash my plate against the wall. Tamlin wore a bemused expression as he took in the sight of his daughter and his chosen ruler of this court once the two would be wed. 

She was sold off like a piece of property to the highest bidder. My mate, just a pawn in her father's games. 

“It is an honour, High Lord,” Carrick bowed his head to dad. He then looked to mum and blinked, dismissing her completely.

“And High Lady.” Dad’s growl nearly shook the chandelier hanging above us. I held back a sneer. Mum only sipped from her tea, though I could tell her hands were shaking with controlled rage at the utter dismissal of her title even seventy five years after it was instilled. 

“Yes,” mused Carrick, “apologies, High Lady.”

Tamlin snorted. Keorah only stared down at her plate, her spoon shaking in her hand. I wished that hand could display our bargain, could shout to the entire damned land that we were friends, that we were _mates_ —

“And how have you been, Carrick?” Keorah’s words were quiet but polite, and they helped ease the rising frustration from my side of the table. 

“Lonesome without you my dear,” he mused, draping an arm across the back of her chair. His plate was loaded with bread, thick cuts of breakfast meats, eggs and oil roasted potatoes to feed his hulking figure. Keo seemed like a twig seated next to him barely picking away at her sliced fruit. 

“You didn’t make it to the funeral.”

I wanted to snap the prick’s neck in half. 

“I am deeply sorry, my love,” his thumb brushed against her cheek, and I held back the urge to break that bone, to shove it up his damned arse at the insincere tone his words beheld. “I was with the troops in the north at autumn’s border trying to mediate a battle between the clansmen of the caves and the village people.”

Tamlin grunted. “Did you tame the savages?”

“Yes, my lord,” Carrick frowned, turning away from Keorah, ignoring the lingering pained expression that twisted my heart. “Not without a few casualties, of course.”

Tamlin shook his head. “Brave men, your soldiers are. Carrick, here, is commander of a legion of my soldiers, the youngest one yet.” 

“Did you fight in the Hybern wars?” Mum asked as she bit into a roasted potato. 

“No, my lady.” His mouth puckered into a tight grimace, and the pointed look in his eyes made dad stand a little straighter in his chair. “My lands were sacked at the time by a certain Cauldron-blessed female and I was forced to flee.”

Feyre paused mid chew, then swallowed before answering, “If you know what’s good for you, boy, then you’d better shut that mouth of yours before I shove my gods-damned fist down your throat.”

Carrick’s expression contorted into one of pure awe, wrath and disbelief, then a booming laugh pierced the room. 

Keorah was laughing, clutching the table, doubled over in hysterics, and I found myself joining her, and soon enough, the entire table was laughing save for Carrick and Tamlin who scowled at the rest of us. 

“I don’t take kindly to people threatening valuable members of my court,” Tamlin warned, sawing through a thick piece of steak. How he managed to eat such tough food so early in the morning, I couldn’t imagine. 

“And I don’t take kindly to people belittling my position and rightful titles,” Feyre retorted, then said to Carrick, “So we’ve even.”

“Immortality never gets dull,” Dad mused, and Tamlin grunted in agreement.

But Carrick’s hand curled proprietarily over Keorah’s thigh, and that anger was back, so strongly my vision clouded with darkness at the corners. 

 

Keorah

Carrick’s grip on my arm was so tight I almost shook him off. 

Since I’d walked into the dining room with Milo by my side, Carrick was fuming in the quiet, discreet way I’d come to recognize. The way he’d put his arm across my chair and pulled me closer to him, the way those fingers curled around my thigh…I knew it was to send a message to Milo. And to me. 

“Your father said I could stay with you during my visit here.” We were walking back to my room after breakfast, which had nearly given me a heart attack from the biting words that’d been exchanged. 

“Oh.” Carrick had never stayed in my room. Had never stayed for more than a few hours at a time, and was usually talking with Papa or other court members into the late hours of the night only to seek me out when he was thoroughly intoxicated and I had to damn near peel him off of me. Mama needed to step in one night when he wouldn’t leave my room. The bruises he bore even weeks after was only a testament to Mama’s dislike of him. 

She’d protested over and over again to try to stop the arrangement between us, to change Papa’s mind, but like all other matters she and I tried to weigh our opinions on, Papa blindly refused and continued on with what he thought was best for us and for our court. Even if it meant a life of unhappiness for me, which he was glad to give. 

I asked, “And how long will you be staying?”

He shrugged. “Indefinitely. I’d like to spend some time with my fiancee.”

I only nodded and pushed open the door to my room. Vesna’s face blanched at the sight of the two of us, and she merely curtsied before trotting out the door. I wanted to burn this dress off of me. I’d worn it to tease Milo, to add to the cat and mouse game we seemed to be playing, but now that Carrick was here and the way his eyes danced up and down my figure… I’d never felt so vulnerable and naked before him. 

He knew it. He knew it with each stride he took to me before he pressed me to the wall and began kissing my neck. 

We’d had our encounters before. It was to be expected of me to…please my husband, to be the preppy, perky little housewife for him, the role I was doomed to play for the rest of my miserable immortal existence when not ruling my court. Carrick and I never had sex, never tangled in the sheets like I knew he wanted to, but the kissing, the grabbing, the sensuous brushes of his hands…they were enjoyable enough for me when my eyes were closed that I didn’t mind them. And now, as his lips pressed down my collarbone, then even further to that tiny slit in the front of my dress where the open skin between my breasts peeked through…I looked down only to realize I’d been imagining someone else. 

_Milo_. 

The thought shuddered through me so intensely that I nearly flinched at the contact of Carrick’s lips and that soft, sensitive spot, and he groaned in approval, pulling my body closer to his. 

Why was I thinking of my enemy’s son? Why had those images flashed through my mind, his body pressed to mine, on his knees before me, worshipping me like the beautiful creature he constantly reminded me I was—

My scent must have revealed enough to Carrick because his eyes were filled with lust as they met mine once again. I showed no emotion, no hint of what I was feeling on my expression, and he only scanned my face before saying, “Nynsar cannot come soon enough, my love.”

I almost snarled. But instead I pressed my lips to his, as he expected me to, as my duties to my court expected me to. 

* * *

The horses’ gallop filled the silence between Milo and I as we rode to the nearby village. 

He’d approached me in the hallway after Carrick had scampered off to Papa for a hunt he’d promised my fiancee. A hunt with Papa was a sign of trust, of approval within this court, and it seemed as though Carrick nearly drooled when the offer had been placed before him. This left me alone to wander the halls of the manor until I’d come face to face with those violet eyes, honed by a fury I hadn’t seen before. He’d choked out his request to spend time with me and I suggested I show him around my court. He’d only nodded in agreement and barely communicated with me since. 

Once the plumes of smoke began to rise in the distance, the telltale sign that we approached the houses of the closest nearby denizens of my court, I said to Milo, “There are many towns and cities spaced throughout the Spring Court, but we consider this our capital. Many wealthy fae reside here, as well as most of our sentries’ families, and other court members. There is a high amount of wealth, but there are also poor, poor sectors that are still rebuilding after the Hybern wars nearly three quarters of a century later.”

His eyes went hard at the words, probably thinking of the destruction of his own home, which was surely just as bad as the rubble and debris that seemed to consume this town before we’d begun working. Mama and I would pitch in every week, spend the entire day help rebuild, offer food, clothing and water to those who needed it, or even just to talk to survivors to help overcome the trauma they’d gone through. Some of those survivors had tried to come to her funeral. The guards said they hadn’t been invited and were turned away at the gates, though the service as per my request was open to the public. Another detail Papa and Nevanthi chose to ignore.

As we entered the town, people began to recognize me and bowed deeply. I merely extended them a respectful incline of my head and tried to point out my favourite places to Milo without causing too much of a stir. 

“That’s the bakery Mama and I would go to on Sundays. She’d buy their best sweets and the most doughy, rich bread you’d ever tasted and we’d go to the poor sectors to hand them out. The kids eyes would go wide as gold marks at the sight. They wouldn’t leave our sides the entire day as we helped their parents fix the wreckage of their houses.”

“She sounds like a fine female, your mother,” Milo offered quietly against the bustling noise that surrounded us. I nodded despite the tightness in my chest. 

“And over there is a seamstress,” I pointed to a shop front filled with the finest fabrics the land could offer, plush silks, thick wool, creamy velvet and cloud like chiffon. “She’s made dozens of gowns for me over the years. Gisha, her name is. She’s currently working on my wedding dress at the moment.”

Milo merely nodded. The wedding, Carrick and the entire engagement, it seemed, was an off subject to him. I only blinked, uncomprehending as to why it bothered him so deeply, yet continued my rambling anyway. 

“You see that sign over there, ‘The Thorn’s Prick’?” A nod of his head. “That’s the tavern I learned to play cards. Bron and Hart, Papa’s captains of the guard, they would take me whenever I was bored and needed to get out of the house. They’ve regretted it every miserable time I’ve handed their asses to them at poker.”

At the mention of the tavern, Milo’s eyes lit up, and for the first time on our ride, he finally looked to me with what seemed like genuine excitement. “Can we go?”

I only nudged my horse in answer, and off we were. 

 

Milo

Everyone seemed to lean in. A deathly hush had overcome the once bustling environment of the tavern, which was full even in the mid-afternoon, and heads tried to peak over each other if only to catch a glimpse at the scene before us. 

Keorah faced off, her expression one of cool, calm indifference, against a hulking brute of a male that stood nearly two feet taller than her and an ugly jagged scar that ran diagonally across his face, framed by the stark blackness of his greasy hair. His face was locked in a permanent sneer that he deigned to throw in the Spring Court heir’s direction. His eyes darted down to his cards, then to his stack of gold marks residing just within reach of his left hand, then back up to the female seated in the chair who’s wood I grasped, poised above her, ready to jump in the moment I sensed the atmosphere turned awry with a hint of any threat. 

“All in,” that gravelly voice said, deep and dark as the eyes that met Keo’s, then mine, as he pushed that stack into the incredulously large sum piled between them. 

Despite the fact that we’d played countless rounds of crib, poker and blackjack last night, which she’d handed my ass to me round after round, I couldn’t tell her signs of bluffing, couldn’t read that mask she entrenched herself in. She only raised one eyebrow, then cooly echoed, “Call.”

She pushed her lump sum of coins into the pile as well, then reached up to her ears to unclasp her seemly priceless diamond earrings to chuck them into the pile as well to make up any remaining difference between the two stacks of gold marks. People murmured with excitement. My heartbeat thundered in my chest at the sheer electric atmosphere that filled the tavern’s awful smelling walls, a stench of stale beer and probably last night’s vomit meeting my nose and causing to resist the urge to heave up the content’s of this morning’s meal. Why her father’s captains of the guard brought her here as a child, I’d never know, but she seemed to blend right in with the rest of them the moment she stepped foot within the establishment, throwing greetings left and right as villagers clasped her shoulder and nodded in acknowledgment. 

The game was cribbage. They were both neck and neck on the peg board, already having played their cards during the pegging round, and were now about to show their hands. Keo needed twenty nine points, a nearly impossible hand, yet the male sitting across from her was sixteen points shy of victory and the excessive heap of gold between them. He had dealt, which meant Keo was counting first. 

Slowly, the future High Lady of the Spring Court flipped her cards over to reveal three fives and a jack of hearts to match the five of hearts turned over on the stack of cards. 

The entire room exploded, and a resounding yell tore itself from my throat in answer. 

Keorah only smirked and shoved her peg into the victor’s spot. The male across from her writhed in fury as she began to scrape the gold into her tunic pockets. The crowd behind us were laughing, grasping each other, yelling Keorah’s name like a battle call as she downed the rest of her ale and let out the bawdiest belch a fine lady could offer right into her opponents face. 

It was at that gesture the male clasped his hands around her roughly that my heart stopped. He’d pulled a knife from his belt and had it grasped against Keorah’s throat. 

The entire crowd of people were silent as death once more. 

“Take your hands off her,” the growl that tore from me was the most animal-like sound I’d ever emitted, and Keorah’s eyes flicked to mine, no sign of panic or fear there. 

Slowly, the corners of her mouth tugged into a smile and she said, “By the Cauldron, Ridon, I thought we’d settled this rivalry of ours when I lost my first engagement ring to you.”

The answering laughter that filled the air instantly loosened the tightness that’d clenched at my lungs and ceased my breaths. If he’d had laid that blade against her skin, I would’ve incinerated him right then and there. The tavern’s roar of celebration continued, and Ridon sheathed his knife once more then turned Keorah in his arms to give her a proper embrace. Carefully, I stepped towards them, and Ridon gave me a wide smile. 

“Milo, this is Ridon, the owner of this shit hole.”

The light that danced in Ridon’s eyes dimmed as they met mine. His smile settled into one of cool respect. “An honour, Milonius.”

“No need for formalities,” I assured the male, who’s smile flicked up once again. “You quite literally made my heart stop when you pulled that knife.”

“You always did love making males shit their pants, you cranky bastard.” Keorah elbowed Ridon who chuckled in response. 

“I’ve known this girl since she was an idea in her mother’s mind. Lyra and I go way back.” His gaze turned soft as he took in the dark expression that befell Keorah’s face. “I wasn’t invited to the funeral, dear. I would’ve been there in a heartbeat.”

“I know,” she said. “Thank you.”

He merely nodded, then resumed his post behind the bar where fae of all kind stood with drinks in their hands, conversing so loudly the roar was nearly deafening. Keorah cocked her head toward the entrance, alerting me she wanted to leave, and we pulled our hoods up as we left the noise behind us and saddled up our horses once more for the trot back home. 

* * *

“I thought it was your father’s captains of the guard who took you there.”

We were wandering through streets of lesser wealth. Buildings were abandoned in their decrepit state, and in the cloudy, rain-speckled day, it only seemed more morose as we galloped in the quiet streets. Here, people didn’t meet our stares, only walked quicker as we passed by them. Keorah’s face was tight, and she spoke softly against the silence broken by the howling wind. 

“Mama took them there originally.” She answered. “After she settled here with Papa, she wanted to help rebuild the destruction in any way she could. One night she was weary and tired after a full day’s worth of labouring, and she was in desperate need of a drink when she stumbled into the Thorn’s Prick. Her and Ridon met there and were fast friends ever since. She brought Bron and Hart there one night and they’d returned every week for their epic card tournaments, and couldn’t pass on the offer of letting me join them in my time of dire boredom.”

I was quiet at the utter vehemence with which she spoke of this village, of her people. 

Suddenly, she pulled on her reigns, and signalled for me to do the same before dismounting. Keorah wandered into a back alley, which I wouldn’t have dared tread into even on the sunniest of days, and did not balk at the filth and stench of the place as she wandered deeper into what seemed the gutter of the Spring Court’s capital city. Then, after wandering down the narrow passage for nearly twenty feet, the walls widened to reveal a back alley filled with tents and smoke and the quiet laughing of children. 

One blonde head poked itself out of a nearby tent, and the little boy’s face broke into a smile at the sight of the female that stood in front of me. Her answering smile made my knees weak. She hadn’t quite yet shared that smile with me, but the moment she did, I knew I’d be a goner.

I remained withdrawn as she spoke to the little boy. Others did not dare draw closer to her, only stared in acknowledgment and respect as their hushed conversation drew longer and longer. That was until the boy, who seemed no older than ten, pulled a rugged, torn sac from his back pocket, and Keorah began emptying the gold from her pockets into the sac. 

I don’t think anybody was breathing at the sight of the wealth being distributed from the female who’d been born into riches gave whatever she could to the boy who’d been born in rags. 

With one final embrace, he returned to his tent, and she pivoted on her foot. I took in the silver that lined her eyes and only wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Instead of shying away, she leaned into me, and I couldn’t have been more at home than I was in her embrace.

“You truly are an angel,” I murmured into her ear. She only pinched my side in response.

 

Keorah

When we arrived at the manor, servants were about the corridors so panicked I thought somebody had sounded the alarms. 

I reached out to a familiar one, Yvette, who only uttered words along the lines of ‘last minute party’ then continued her sprint to the kitchens where orders were being screeched by whoever was in charge there. Warily, I glanced around at the finery being hung around the manor, from rich golden streamers to a tower of champagne flutes stacked by the ballroom. I hadn’t seen such things since the winter solstice, and stormed over to where Carrick and Tamlin were leaning over a stack of papers on the dining room table. 

“What’s going on?”

Papa didn’t hide his distaste for my outstanding curiosity as her replied, “I’ve decided to throw the two of you a proper engagement party. I think it’s good we show our visitors that we’re capable of good times here at the manor.”

Papa’s pointed gaze was aimed at Milo, who now stood a healthy distance from me. Milo only shrugged, then looked to Carrick and Papa and said, “It’s about time we raid your cellars for some good liquor.”

Carrick’s answering snigger was enough to break the electric tension between the two males, and before I knew it, Vesna was whisking me away to my room to prep me for tonight’s celebrations. 

* * *

“You’ve outdone yourself, Vesna.”

Indeed she had. 

The gown I wore was of soft tulle that fell down to brush the floor in drapes and swaths of fabric, and silver beading creeped its way up the bodice to the inch thick sleeves that hugged my shoulders and down my back to narrow into two thin straps, exposing the creamy unmarred skin of my glamour to hide the scars beneath. My entire body was marred, though Vesna and others couldn’t see it, and despite the gore that those marks wreaked upon my body, the dress still managed to make me feel beautiful. 

“I’ve only enhanced your natural beauty, Keke,” she said gently, placing the silver diadem of intricately carved sterling silver ivy upon my head. It brought out the silver accents of the gown and brought out the cold tones of my emerald eyes. With a fluffy brush, Vesna swiped on the finishing touch of shimmery silver metallic cluster across my cheek bones and collarbones until I was a living breathing silver star. 

She helped me stand in the heels and I spun with a flourish to flaunt the marvellous work she’d done. 

“The guests have already arrived.” Vesna said, lifting a hand toward the door. “Now go woo that boy of yours.”

I snorted. “I don’t have to woo my fiancee, Vesna. We’re already getting married.”

“Not that one dear,” she clucked, and my eyes flickered to hers in confusion until—oh. _Oh_. Milo. 

“There is _nothing_ going on between Milo and I—”

“Whatever you say, Keke,” she chuckled, then opened the door let me out. 

There was no denying that he and I had chemistry. There was absolutely no denying that I found him attracted. And then there was that feeling I had when I was near him, like a string within me was pulling me closer, whispering to me to let myself be wrapped within his being. 

But he couldn’t stomach a life with me. At least not my normal day to day life spent in the dark confines of my own room. 

I released a frustrated sigh through my nose and carefully adjusted the curls that Vesna had loosened from my done up hair to frame my features. The heels of my shoes echoed against the marble tile, and the smell of cheesy cocktail snacks and warmed apple cider bourbon cocktail. As I neared the staircase of the east wing, the full blast of conversation finally hit me, and I wondered how the pair of them had organized so many to come on such short notice. Nonetheless, I steeled my spine and set a smile on my face. 

The sound of heads turning to catch a glimpse of my arrival was the only thing I heard louder than the pounding of my heart and the soft music playing from the ballroom. My eyes searched the crowd for any familiar face until it settled on Carrick’s who smiled down at me from the bottom of the staircase, a lustful glint in his eyes that made me swallow hard, but smile nonetheless. 

Once at the bottom, he offered me his arm, and I wrapped my hands around it, the feeling still as unfamiliar and foreign as the thought of being chained to this male for the rest of my life. People offered congratulations and warm smiles as we passed them, mostly wealthy fae or fae nobility and members of Papa’s court. The only foreigners were Feyre, Rhysand and Milo who’d dispersed themselves within the crowd and made polite conversation. 

“You look lavishing, sweetheart,” Carrick murmured in my ear. He picked a champagne flute from a nearby servant passing them around and placed it in my hand, and we toasted before taking a sip. Carrick began to make his rounds, introducing me to courtiers, having lively debates about troops and inner court dynamics I knew little to nothing about. I only plastered a tiny smile on my face and laughed when everyone else did, then took my seat at the long dinner table set up to seat nearly fifty comfortably within the ballroom. I sat to Carrick’s right, my father’s left from where he sat at the head of the table in his classic green tunic and gold accents to match his crown of a golden wreath.

Papa stood from where he was seated and raised his hands until the room quieted down. With his charming smile, he announced, “It is my honour and pleasure to ask you in joining me in a toast to the union of my daughter Keorah and Carrick, who are to be wed in four weeks time.”

People raised their glasses and their gazes settled upon Carrick and I. He pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek and I smiled, then looked back up at my father, who grinned down at us. “I have known Carrick since he was a newborn, and I knew from the beginning he’d be a promising warrior, and an even more promising male to one day be wed to my daughter and help her rule this court. The fact that I will get to call you my son in law is an honour, Carrick.”

Carrick beamed at Papa. “The honour is mine, my lord.”

“And Keorah,” Papa said, his warm eyes settling upon me, “you will never know the pride I feel when I call you my daughter. You’ve grown into such a fine, wonderful female, and I know that if your mother was here today, she’d be just as proud.”

The fondness in his voice, a fondness I hadn’t heard in years was enough to bring tears to my eyes, to think that maybe the devil hadn’t completely consumed him, that there may have been hope left of the father I knew as a child. 

“I love you, Papa,” I murmured gently. 

“Carrick?” Papa lifted his hand in his direction, and Carrick stood with a squeeze of his hand on my thigh. He cleared his throat, then began. 

“When I first laid my eyes on Keorah, I thought I was dying. She was and will always be the most beautiful female I’d ever seen. Every day that passes I learn something new to love her for. Her laughter, her smile, the way her eyebrows furrow in concentration when she’s reading…” he trailed off before offering his hand, which I took as a sign to stand before him. Carrick had never spoken in such a way, and though my distaste for him was strong… those words must’ve been real, because the look in his eyes was as genuine as the smile upon his face. “I want to spend every day of my life with you, Keorah.”

“Then it’s a good thing we have eternity,” I beamed. His smile widened, and he swooped down to press my lips to his. 

“To Keorah and Carrick, future High Lady and High Lord of the Spring Court!”

Applause and cheers filled the air, and I thought that maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I could make it through this, maybe I could be that girl they wanted me to be. 

* * *

The dancing had begun much earlier in the night than anticipated. Carrick and I couldn’t let go of each other, and we’d danced circles around the others to jigs, waltzes and tangos…His feet moved so gracefully I could barely catch up. That glimmer that’d overcome his eyes when he’d said the words… I couldn’t seem to stop staring at him. 

That was until a familiar black haired boy swooped in while I made to refill my flute of champagne. I hadn’t spoken a word to him the entire evening of being whisked around, and found myself beaming at the sight of his violet eyes. I smiled at him, and he smiled back, though it didn’t quite extend to the rest of his features. 

“Care to dance?” The words were careful, tentative, but I only beamed at him and took his hand as he swept me onto the dance floor. Carefully, his hand found the curve of my hip, and his footsteps lead me into a waltz that had my heart beating double time to keep up with. 

“I didn’t get the chance to tell you how stunning you look tonight, Keorah,” he murmured in my ear. 

I stared up at him, cocking my head to the side playfully. “No ‘angel’ tonight, Milo?”

Something hardened in his face when he said, “No, I don’t think your fiancee would appreciate that coming from me.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood,” I said lowly, looking back down at my feet. 

He sighed, then tilted my chin back up to meet his gaze. “I’m sorry. It just hasn’t been the best night for me.”

“And why’s that?”

His eyes bore into mine. Milo opened his mouth to say something, shut it, then finally clipped, “I didn’t realize you were so close.”

“One would need to be close with the person their spending the rest of their lives with.”

“That’s not what you were saying a few days ago.”

I rolled my eyes. “Here you go again. Thinking that you know me _so_ well, that you know better than me as if I couldn’t live my life just fine—”

“Forgive me if I am trying to save you from a lifetime of misery,” he seethed, his entire expression contorting at my comment, “because that’s exactly what you’re dooming yourself to when you vow to be his trophy wife for the rest of your existence.”

The words hit me blow after blow after blow and I hadn’t realized we’d stopped dancing. I only stared blankly ahead at his chest. It deflated with a breath he must’ve been holding, then he started blubbering, “Keorah, I’m sorry, please I didn’t mean it—”

“Oh, you meant every word,” I breathed, pulling him off the dance floor to not get into others’ way. Nobody paid us much attention, and I took that brief pause from being in the crowd’s eye to say, “you and your parents invited yourselves here on the grounds of diplomacy only to frown upon our court, our traditions and our lifestyle because you all think you’re so high and mighty up there in your castle of charity in the Night Court—”

Milo reached to grab my hand. “Keorah, those weren’t our intentions in the _slightest_ —”

“Do _not_ interrupt me,” I spat, tearing my tattooed hand out of his grasp, wanting to erase it entirely, before continuing. “You say you came here out of diplomacy and you found a broken girl and expected me to continue being that broken, snivelling girl, yet you’re disappointed when I show the first glimmer of happiness towards my _fiancee_ of all people—”

“Keorah, please just listen to me—”

“No, you listen to _me_ , Milo.” I poked him squarely in the chest. “I will not pity you when you are seated in that black throne of adamant alone and miserable as you live out the rest of your pitiful existence, because if you keep spitting those condescending words everywhere you go, that’s where you will find yourself. Friendless.”

Milo’s face broke, and I did not care. Did not care as he took one step back, pivoted on his heel, and strode right out of the ballroom without a glance back. 

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” Carrick’s arm was around my waist once more, and I leaned into his grasp. 

“Yes,” I murmured, despite the roiling guilt and shame festering within my gut at the image of his broken expression filling my mind.

 

Milo

I couldn’t think straight anymore. 

No, nothing was making sense as I stormed up the steps of the manor to our guest bedroom, not taking one glance back to that dreaded party and that devastatingly gorgeous female who’d managed to break me with her words. I didn’t know what hurt the most—the fact that they were so true, or the fact that they fell from her lips. 

My feet were carrying me toward the washroom before I could stop them. I slammed the door behind me, and with half a thought the bath was already full of steaming water. With a tug my shirt was off, over my head, and I didn’t care that buttons went flying as I peeled away the fabric. I stepped out of my pants and undershorts then threw them across the room, leaving only my belt of knives to sit on my bare thighs. 

My fingers were shaking as I unsheathed the dagger. It was the same process every time: unsheathing the dagger, folding myself into the warm waters of the bath, then gathering the strength to make that first cut. 

I didn’t care that I was weeping. 

I felt no shame as I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed as the image of Keorah, my mate, smiling at that male, kissing him, promising her love to him kept rushing through my mind over and over again—

My mate. To be wed to another without any knowledge of the bond laying between us. 

Only another way the Mother had managed to screw me over. 

I removed the glamor surrounding me. Beneath lay old, white scars lining my thighs, my legs, my upper biceps and my right arm. I’d started the cutting a year after Isra was born and told myself that no matter what, I wouldn’t tarnish our family promise, because even if I didn’t have myself or my sanity intact, I had them. Despite their obliviousness, I still had them. 

Carefully, I lowered myself into the bath, and as the heat of the water settled itself into my bones, I clutched the dagger by its pommel. I closed my eyes. It was the calm before the storm, the moment of silence before I wreaked hell upon myself for all the horrible things that I had said. For being a failure to my parents. For disappointing the people around me, time and time again. For failing Keorah, my mate, and the fact that I would never be enough for her. 

But most of all, I exploded with each swift movement of the blade against my skin, blood pouring over the skin of my thighs and staining the water a murky, pinkish colour, because I hated myself. Living an eternity within this mind, with this life, was already killing me slowly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments. They really do motivate to keep on writing and they make my day! Next update will be a teensy tiny slower because I'm currently behind schedule, but it'll be just as good, I promise.   
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	8. Booze and Songs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah tries to apologize to Milo by showing him a special part of her. He then invites her to a picnic she'll never forget.   
> Trigger warning: mention of self harm and suicidal ideation.
> 
> Also, for the song mentioned in this chapter (Halo, covered by Ane Brun ft. Linnea Olsson), you can listen along to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHf_mO0LlWs

_CHAPTER 8_

 

Milo

“What’s wrong, hun,” mum’s weight settled itself beside me where I was curled within the sheets, eyes splotchy and swollen from the tears I’d shed last night. My thighs stung as they rubbed against the white gauze I’d carefully wrapped around them last night, but I let no sign of the pain show on my face.

“Please leave me alone,” I croaked and pulled the sheets tighter over my head to block out the sun’s rays. 

Another weight added itself to my left, and dad’s voice said, “We hate seeing you this way, son.”

“Well, you’re just going to have to deal with it,” I snapped. 

Silence ensued, and I could tell they were having one of those secret conversations of theirs, and before I knew it, mum’s footsteps padded out of the room and she softly closed the door behind her. Dad only cleared his throat, cleaving the opaque, pungent quiet between us.

“When I found out your mother, my mate, was going to be wed to my sworn enemy, I went on a drinking binge that lasted so long I probably pissed away half of my brain cells.”

My head whipped towards him at those words, and his answering expression was one of understanding, as though he was reliving the same aching, torturous pain that consumed me at this very moment. 

I only rasped, “How did you know?”

“Because I know that look on your face. I know that expression you wear when you stare at Keorah, because it’s the same expression I saw in the mirror for three months seventy five years ago.”

“How…” I trailed off, unable to form coherent thoughts. “How do I live with it? How did you deal with the instincts, with the pain?”

A cloudiness overcame dad’s eyes when he said, “I was lucky enough that your mother found her way into my life in the end once she was over the pain that awful, twisted male downstairs wreaked upon her. But I’m not going to sit here and lie to you and say that she’ll come around, that it gets easier with time, because it doesn’t.”

I swallowed hard. “Gee, thanks dad.”

He sighed and laid a careful hand on my shoulder. “What I’m trying to say, Milo, is that right now she is not in any position to be wed, nonetheless be told that you are her mate. She is in a dark place, in here,” he tapped his skull, “and in here.” He gestured vaguely around the room, meaning the manor itself and the male that ruled it. “You need to give her time to heal.”

With that he stood and left me to my misery to sulk some more.

* * *

The knocking at my door woke me from yet another nightmare. The same one I’d relived night after night these past few weeks, only this time it was Keorah shoving me into that box of death and ancient darkness. 

Seeing that my parents had not returned since their departure for breakfast this morning, I made my way to the door, stumbling, and mumbled, “Just a moment,” as I pulled on some trousers to make myself at least halfway decent. They were rumpled where they sat atop of the gauze, but no one else would notice unless they looked close enough.

When I pulled the door open, there she was, her eyes smudged with purple beneath them. She wore simple pants and a deep green sweater, and her hair was down, curled from being stuck in that gorgeous style she wore it in the night before. 

“Oh,” she said, “sorry for waking you—

“It’s fine,” I said, pulling the door open wider, despite the fact that I was still shirtless. Not like she hasn’t seen me this way before. 

“You weren’t at breakfast this morning.” The words were a simple enough topic to edge our way around, but I wasn’t playing her dance this morning. 

“Didn’t think you’d care.” I pulled on a navy tunic, the material slipping on easily with the slits for my wings that I revealed to her in all their massiveness despite the small space. She’d seen them before, yet her eyes still filled with wonder at the sight. I tucked them away and that look vanished from her eyes just as quickly as it came. 

“I’m sorry,” her voice was rough. “I’m so sorry, Milo. Those words, I didn’t mean them.”

I was ready to fight. I was ready to unleash my anger upon her, to tell her everything I’d been holding back in the last four days we’d been together, but that look on her face of pure devastation told me there was more to it than just our argument last night. 

“I said some pretty awful things too,” I murmured, closing the distance between us. I reached a hand up, that glamour peeling back to reveal our shared tattoo, and she reached her own up to mine, a mirror of the art on my skin. Her fingers intertwined themselves with mine. 

“Carrick and Papa left this morning for the eastern border again,” she said quietly. “Which means I can show you something.”

“Lead the way, angel.” She pulled our twined hands out into the hallway and up to the third floor of the eastern wing.

 

Keorah

I didn’t tell Milo of the bruises Papa had left on me last night. 

It was the early hours of the morning when he’d found me on the back steps of the manor brooding at the rising sun. He’d been wreaking of alcohol, but he stooped to sit beside me anyway, and when I went to lean my head against his shoulder, thinking that maybe the party had softened something in his heart, maybe those things he'd said in front of the amassed crowd rang true somewhere within the darkness in his soul, he’d pushed me down the stairs so violently I’d nearly shattered my hip. 

“Fuck off, Lyra.” He’d spat before stumbling back inside, leaving me sobbing at the bottom of the stairs, trying to crawl my way up despite the raging pain in my side. I’d healed a good portion of it, though my glamour today was thickened over the dark bruise that’d formed there. Papa had been so drunk he’d thought I was Mama. Had been so mad at Mama that he’d pushed her down the stairs. 

When I’d made my way back up to my room, all I found was Carrick passed out on my bed, snoring like a goddamned hog, sprawled across the bed so widely I barely managed to squeeze myself in beside him. In his drunken state, which I could tell just by the reek of his breath, I knew even his sensitive fae hearing wouldn’t stir him from slumber. He noticed nothing this morning when he kissed me awake.

I hid my limp as best as I could as I led Milo up into Papa’s room. The rustled sheets reeked of liquor, musk and sweat as we dashed by and into the third room, softly closing the door behind us to block out the sound I’d be making soon enough. 

“Her closet?” Milo asked as he took in the various gowns, crowns and clothes carefully laid about. I nodded, hands sweating nervously at what I was about to show him, a peace offering of sorts between us. 

“Mama taught me to play when I was a child,” I gestured vaguely to the harp that laid in the corner of the room. 

“You…play? Music?” His voice was filled with awe. 

I nodded shyly and motioned for him to sit on the love seat. Then I shook out the nerves building in my shaking hands and settled down on the stool. 

“I have never showed this to anyone except Mama,” I said quietly, stretching out my fingers and closing my eyes before finally beginning to pluck away at that all-too familiar song that played within my heart and mind.

_Remember those walls I built_

_Well, baby, they're tumbling down_

_And they didn't even put up a fight_

_They didn't even make a sound_

I took a breath and continued to pluck away, the song building and crescendoing as I sped through the first verse. 

_I found a way to let you win_

_But I never really had a doubt_

_Standing in the light of your halo_

_I got my angel now_

My breathing began to pick up. Never, I’d _never_ sung to anyone before, and I was so _stupid_ , such a childish little girl thinking this would fix the rift between us—

_It's like I've been awakened_

_Every rule I had you break it_

_It's the risk that I'm taking_

_I ain't never gonna shut you out_

_Everywhere I'm looking now_

_I'm surrounded by your embrace_

_Baby, I can see your halo_

_You know you're my saving grace_

_You're everything I need and more_

_It's written all over your face_

_Baby, I can feel your halo_

_Pray it won't fade away_

 

By the time the last few notes shuddered out and filled the resounding silence of the room, I lifted my eyes to Milo’s to find silver lined there. 

“Again,” he breathed.

I obliged him.

* * *

“I am taking you on a picnic tonight,” Milo announced.

We’d spent the entire day in the manor wandering from room to room. I’d shown him the royal coffers, the rows and rows of jewels and heirlooms we kept in the lower levels, the library where we’d spent a few hours lounging and reading and throwing grapes at each other when we got bored, the stables outside where we brushed the horses and I told him of my childhood, of Mama, of Papa before he’d become the beast I knew today. Milo only listened and reacted, then asked me question upon question. We hadn’t stopped for hours, and nobody had come to stop us. Papa and Carrick were still away and would be for the rest of the night if the murmurs the sentries had spread about the manor were correct. 

Rhysand and Feyre weren’t anywhere to be seen. Milo told me Feyre hadn’t been feeling well and was resting in her room, Rhysand by her side. It only gave us the solitude we craved to be together. 

When I wasn’t filling the silence with my words, Milo would tell me of his friends in the Illyrian mountains, Raph and Nya, of his family, his uncles and aunts and little sister. The way he spoke of them was so admirable that I could only dream of loving a group of people as deeply as he did. To have a circle of others to call a family.

Eventually, we ended back up in his room. The sun had set long ago, and we’d completely forgotten to sit down for a proper meal. I only wondered how hungry he must’ve been after skipping breakfast and lunch. 

“You ready to go on our picnic, batling?”

He extended his hand to me and I grasped it, twining our fingers together as he’d done hours ago. “After you, angel.”

I winnowed us to that same clearing once we’d both adorned warmer, more casual clothing. He’d opted fighting leathers, though we weren’t going to be swinging swords or exercising tonight, and I bundled myself in a deep green sweater and cream pants.

Below the willow tree laid a blanket adorned with sandwiches, fine pastries and what seemed like a bottle of some type of liquor. I turned to Milo and raised my eyebrows. He only smirked and said, "I like treating my friends as well."

I snorted and he placed a careful hand on my back to guide us beneath the softly swaying branches of the willow. We lowered ourselves to the ground, him sitting crosslegged parallel to me, while I leaned against the tree.

We'd waited until the manor turned quiet and desolate before meeting in my room to winnow to the clearing. Though I knew Papa couldn't hear us, he had eyes and ears everywhere, and the very last thing I needed was him catching me sneaking off in the night.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said gently as he popped the top off of the champagne bottle and poured it into two glasses, one he handed to me, the other he nursed in his right hand. “I’ve heard of your family, your childhood, your court, but not of _you_.”

I raised one eyebrow, swallowing a bite of cucumber sandwich. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. Your hobbies, your passions, your weird fetishes…”

“Weird fetishes?” I scoffed.

“Oh yes, definitely. What makes you click, Keorah?”

My mouth quirked into a grin. “I've always loved wings.”

His eyes danced in amusement. “Is that so?”

“Seems as though you could definitely get into some interesting positions with those.”

His laugh cut through the silence of the evening. “You wicked thing.”

I shrugged my shoulders, then offered, “You saw it today. I like music. I’ve never shown that to anybody else.”

His brows shot up as I sipped from the bubbly drink in my hand. “Really?”

I nodded. “Since I was a kid, Mama would play for me on her harp. Even Papa played his fiddle at special occasions when guests coaxed him to it. I would practice with Mama and she would teach me songs, chords, melodies she liked. We took turns playing." I smiled, remembering the warm afternoons filled with sunlight, splendor and the gentle plucking of the instrument's strings. But never have I sang for either of them, or any other soul on the land. That was something I did in private when nobody watched. I thought I was awful at it until you nearly weeped at my impromptu performance.” At that he reached over to flick my nose, and I swatted his hand away.

“My mum likes to pretend she can sing,” he grinned, plucking a berry from the bowl laid before us. Tentatively, I reached out and did the same, its sweet juices coating my tongue. “But she'll bust into a bawdy tune and cats go running in the streets.”

“Somehow I can picture that perfectly,” I laughed, then lifted my hand to him. “And you? What makes you... 'click' Milonius?”

 

Milo

_You_ , I wanted to say.  _You make me click, Keorah_.

I hated myself. I hated that I'd known this girl for merely four days and felt like I've known her my entire life. I hated that I felt myself so close to her, so incredibly in synch with her, only to wonder if she reciprocated those feelings. So far she'd shown no sign of that bond I felt, of that string made of starlight and roses and sunshine that connected our very souls. The day we’d spent together only solidified those feelings I felt for her. They were undeniable and pounding against my tongue, demanding I voice them, demanding I finally make this bond between us a real, tangible thing, not just some faraway fantasy in my mind—

I focused on the present, trying cut through the roaring of my incessant thoughts.

“Art,” I said softly. “I draw.”

“Are you any good?”

I laughed at her bluntness. “I’d like to think so.”

She was eating. It was little things, like bites of a cucumber sandwich or grapes, but she was eating, not just pushing things around her plate like she did at meal times. I grinned at the quiet victory no matter how small it was.

“Your mother is an artist, no?”

“She’s a painter,” I clarified. “She owns a studio in the city that offers free classes in a form of art therapy. She teaches there when she’s not busy.”

Keorah nodded appreciatively, then slumped back against the tree stump. “And what do you do every day, High-Lord-in-training?”

I shrugged. “Make people cry. Kick stray puppies in the streets.”

She snorted and threw a grape at me. “Most of the people in my court would believe what you just said.”

“And why don’t you?”

“Because I’m not an old rich High Fae male, who happen to compose most of my father’s council.”

“Fair enough,” I chuckled, then eased back against my hands. The fabric of my pants hitched up and shifted the gauze on my thighs and I released a sharp breath. 

“Something wrong?” Keorah’s eyes narrowed in concern, but I waved it off. 

“Just old age, darling,” I huffed, then adjusted myself so the pain eased every so slightly. “Most days I sit on meetings with the Inner Circle and discuss internal affairs. It’s not very stimulating, if I’m being honest. And when I’m not doing that I visit Nya and Raph or I spend time with my family.”

A faraway look dashed across her face as she stared out across the expanse of the meadow. Quietly, she said, “I like your family.”

“You’re saying that now while they’re on their best behaviour. And they aren’t around the band of hooligans back home.”

Her mouth curled up at the edges and she finally met my gaze again. “I’d like to meet them some day.”

“Well, if all goes well you’ll likely be meeting them next week,” I raised my glass of champagne to my lips and sipped at the bubbles. 

She sighed through her nose and leaned back against the trunk of the willow tree. Silence encompassed the two of us as the wind whistled between the branches of the willow tree. I took another sip from my glass, and she opened one eye to scan the contents of drink, then the bottle, then me. 

“Milo,” she purred, sitting up straight until she was cross-legged only a foot away from me. There was a certain glint to her eyes I hadn’t seen all night. I quirked one eyebrow and lowered my glass. 

“Yes, angel?”

She grasped the dark green bottle within her fingers before asking, “Have you got anything stronger than this?”

My saccharine smile was answer enough.

* * *

Keorah

It’d been a while since I’d been thoroughly, properly drunk. 

The last time was winter solstice when Mama kept handing me drink after drink while we were in the Winter Court. She’d tried to sway me into dancing with some males of the court, who were indeed handsome and charming and kept throwing looks my way, but I had much more fun drinking with her and Vivianne as the festivities ran deep through the night. That warmth in my chest and the freeing of my inhibitions, feeling as though I could do anything I wanted to without repercussions was so endearing I wanted to hold onto it forever. That was until I woke the next morning with a pounding headache and my stomach in knots. Vivianne and Mama had laughed themselves hoarse yet stood by me just the same as I heaved my guts up.

As Milo and I kept knocking down a bottle of his father’s finest scotch, I had a feeling that tomorrow morning would not be pleasant for either of us. But that warmth that filled my chest eased the hurting, eased the pain, if only for a moment. 

“Okay, okay,” Milo chuckled, clasping the brown glass between his fingers. We’d been trading back and forth for a while now, asking each other questions, each one growing more daring as the volume decreased within the bottle. “Have you slept with anybody before?”

“Are you inciting something, Milonius?” I quirked an eyebrow. I hadn’t been so liberal, so open with him throughout his entire stay here until now. And the thread that’d been pulling me to him, the static that’d been roaring through my mind these last few days…it calmed when I neared him, when I spoke and laughed and drank with him. I didn’t know what it meant, but it was soothing nonetheless to have a friend. My first one besides my own mother and Lucien. 

“Me? Never.”

I rolled my eyes then drawled, “No, I haven’t fucked anyone. That would defeat the purpose of selling me off like a mare to breed, wouldn’t it?”

He scoffed. “Such awful words for a fine lady.”

“Says you, you hulking brute,” I huffed. He passed me the bottle and I took another swig, the liquid burning much less than it had an hour ago. “And you? I bet females have fallen over each other to get the chance to warm your bed.”

“Are you admitting that I’m handsome, Keorah?” He teased, propping his head in his hand. 

I splayed a hand to my chest. “I would never do such a thing. Your ego is already so inflated I’m surprised your head has managed to stay upon your shoulders all these years.”

His sensuous laughter caressed my ears. I lost balance leaning back against the tree trunk and braced myself on my palms before I toppled to the ground. This incited us to laugh even harder, and he helped pull me up into a seated position once more. He hadn’t let go of my hand, and I decided that I quite liked the feeling of his skin against mine, his warmth spreading through my fingers and up my arm to meet that heat pulsing within my chest, slowly sinking lower and lower to my core. A certain tingling feeling creeped down my spine as his thumb stroked the skin on the back of my hand. 

“To answer your question, yes,” he said smoothly, then added with a wink, “though it wasn’t only females darling.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, now that’s a story you must share.”

“In due time,” he purred, then took a swig from the bottle. Milo scanned me from head to toe in that appreciative, contemplative way of his. Slowly, he inched his way over until he sat on his knees before me. There was barely any space between us. We were breathing the same air, and I could hear the pulsing of his heart within his chest, a steady, rhythmic sound I wanted to memorize. His fingertips reached out to graze the skin of my neck. I tilted my head slightly, opening myself to him, and his husky voice said, “I’d like to draw you.” The warmth of his words caressed my skin and my lips parted in a silent plea.

“Nude would be best.”

“Cruel, wicked thing.” Slow, so tantalizingly slow, those lips lowered until they met my flesh.

_** (A/N WARNING: NSFW. PROCEED WITH CAUTION) ** _

Milo knew exactly what he was doing. As those lips travelled down, kissing and sucking and biting at the sensitive skin, I released a moan so unholy and knotted my fingers within his midnight locks of hair. How we’d gotten here, I didn’t care. I just wanted more, so much more. I almost whined when he pulled away, catching his breath. I pressed a hand to his heart to find it was beating quickly, so quickly within his chest. My mind was swirling, careening over itself, I couldn’t think of feel or see straight—

“Is this alright, angel?” His words entered me and I blinked. Violet eyes met mine and I knew I wanted this. Wanted him. 

“Do you worst, batling,” I murmured. Then I hooked my fingers within the collar of his tunic and pulled him to me.

All in the world was righted as those soft lips met mine, as they danced across mine, warm and gentle and testing. Tentatively, he curled his arm around the small of my back then pulled me closer, deepening the kiss until my mouth was open, inviting to his, and things became hot and fast and wondrous—

All I could taste was him, this male before me that nipped and tasted and claimed me wholly, his tongue sweeping into my mouth. I loosed a moan and his answering groan only further sent my skin pleading for more. 

Oh, and he gave it all. Gave it all as he laid me on my back and his mouth travelled down, down to my neck where his tongue lingered on the sensitive skin between my neck and shoulder, where he bit and sucked and claimed my flesh as he pleased. With every brush of his lips I only craved more, wanted more, wanted him on top of me, below me, _inside_ of me—

“We should stop.” Milo pulled away, eyes wide, though there was a certain distance within them as if he too felt like everything was floating. 

“Why the hell would that be?”

“Because we are both very drunk,” he slurred.

I snorted. “Your point?”

“And you’re betrothed.”

“Your point?” I repeated. Carrick was far, far away—

He paused. Then, “What is it you want, Keorah?”

The question hit me hard despite the fact that everything felt like I was living underwater. I contemplated the question for a moment, trying to find any reasoning or excuse that could just get him to continue that pleasure barge he’d wreaked on me only moments ago. And, _and_ , if we did have sex, then…

“I just want fun. Distraction.”

His eyes flickered with an emotion I couldn’t place before that smirk was back on his face. “Then ready yourself, angel. If I remember correctly you mentioned something about interesting positions.” He flared his wings above us and my blood boiled.

Milo swiftly pulling his shirt over his head. I reached up to trace the muscles of his abdomen that I’d been admiring, ogling over only days before, and he shuddered against me, his fingers wrapping around my wrist and pulling it above my head. He pinned both of my hands above my head against the soft grass. 

“Give me your left hand.”

“What?”

“Give me your hand.”

I held up my left hand and his eyes closed in on the jewel encasing my ring finger. His mouth wrapped around my finger, and he dug his teeth into the ring’s band and tugged up, up until it loosened itself from my skin. He spat the expensive piece of jewelry into his hand and stared at it appreciatively for a moment. Then chucked it into the pond behind us. I laughed, and so did he, swaying slightly above me. We were so, so far gone.

“Someone is all talk, but no play,” I drawled, sticking my tongue out at him, and his answering snarl only confirmed that he too had this animalistic desire coursing through him that just wanted to taste and touch and feel and fuck—

With a blink of my eye, I’d removed my shirt and bra, tearing it off me with a phantom wind and leaving my exposed breasts before his face. 

“Gods,” he breathed before lowering his mouth to my right breast. I let out a moan at the contact, bucking my hips up to meet his, and feeling an intense satisfaction spread through my chest at the hardness that met me through his trousers. 

Milo’s right hand reached up to fondle my other breast and I squeezed my eyes shut, completely believing that I could die from this. Die from this longing, this lust that coursed so fiercely through my blood. 

I didn’t care that I was sullying myself. I didn’t care of the dire consequences I’d face when they smelled our mingled scents. All that mattered was right now, and the glorious male towering above me, and the swimming feeling that’d overtaken my senses. I was so, so drunk—

His warm mouth dipped lower, dancing down the plane of my abdomen to the waistband of my pants. He paused there, his eyes glancing up toward mine teasingly, a shit-eating grin dancing across his face. 

“Please,” I ground out, thrusting my hips up into his face, trying get any friction I could for him to keep that contact between my body and his mouth—

In one swift motion, he unzipped my pants and tugged them down to my knees, then pulled them off with a tug. I heard the splitting of a seam, and when he held them up before my face with a wince, I saw that he tore the damned things into two panels of useless, beige material. 

“You prick,” I sneered, and his roaring laugh echoed through the night as he threw the material over his shoulder. He repositioned himself between my legs, spreading them wide for him as his mouth dipped lower and lower. 

He pressed a soft kiss to my panty-covered centre, and I was undone. 

I could feel him smiling against me, and my back arched to meet the heat of his mouth, and when I felt that damned tongue against the bundle of nerves between my thighs, I burst into flames. 

Literal flames. 

Milo only chuckled darkly at the sight of me completely ravaged by the reds and oranges and blues, illuminating our figures in the darkness beneath the willow tree. The fire wasn’t hot to touch, but the effect was enough for him to tear the underwear free from where they sat snugly against my hips. 

The first lick of Milo’s tongue was my unbecoming. 

One hand pinned my hip to the ground as his tongue worked great, sweeping strokes, and the other reached up to palm my breast. He growled at the sounds I emitted, sounds I had no control over as he bit and sucked on that bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs. Then his hand was pulling away from my breast, and before I could protest, those fingers that’d been flicking my nipple moments before found themselves plunged within me, pumping inside me as his teeth scraped against that cursed spot—

Released shattered through me, and I cried out his name over and over as he continued to work me, that wicked tongue of his kept prodding at my centre, kept me bucking and thrashing against him. 

“Please,” the word was a rasp, a plea, and only then did he stop, did he meet my eyes with a mischievous glint dancing within them. 

“What was that angel?”

I was done with his macho horse shit. With a sweet smile, I reached my hand between his legs and palmed him through his trousers. 

The curse he barked had me chuckling myself hoarse. His eyes only darkened with that animalistic lust as he undid the button of his pants. I reached up to tug them down until he remained in only his undershorts. One moment, he was kneeling above me, smirking like a predator taking in its prey. 

The next I flipped us over, and it was my turn to show him that wanting, that lust that lived within me as well. 

“Show me your wings, batling,” I purred. Where before, there was nothing, the next, glorious membranous wings extending nearly eight feet in diameter—

“The people in my court say that the size of their wingspan correlates to the size of other parts,” Milo mused, reaching to lazily brush his fingers against the dip of my waist. 

“Let’s see if they speak the truth.” In one swift tug, his undershorts were off to reveal the generous length of him.

My mouth watered at the sight. Carefully, gently, my fingers grazed against his hardness. 

The hiss he emitted was encouragement enough to lower my mouth to him. 

“Fuck,” he grunted, his hips arching to meet my mouth. I ran my tongue over the tip of his cock, and I was surprised he waited out the full minute of my ministrations before lunging at me. 

Lunging at me so quickly I didn’t realize I was back against the ground as that considerable length of him nudged against my entrance. It was my turn to bark a curse. 

Milo only laughed before ever so slowly guiding himself inside me, inch by marvellous inch. At the touch of me his wings outstretched themselves to their full might, and I reached up to glide a finger down the enticing membrane, but he caught my hand in his and held it down against the ground. 

His girth and size filled me so fully my eyes rolled into the back of my head. 

I could feel him twitching with restraint above me, but I only thrusted my hips against him, urging him to move, to go go go _go_. 

His answering thrust was enough to have us both in flames. 

The world, the entire world was on fire around us as his hips rolled against mine, meeting my thrust in time, hitting that spot within me that yearned to touch him, to wrap my being around him. I clawed at his back to pull him closer to me.

“You’re mine,” he ground out, and I wrapped my legs around his torso. The fit was so much deeper, and his moan of approval only confirmed it. The words tugged at something within me, and I answered their call. Everything was turning over itself, and I had to blink the dizziness from my eyes—

“I am yours,” I slurred. Milo’s pace quickened, and I knew this would be my unbecoming. 

He hit that spot within me once more and I was undone, writhing beneath him as he roared my name like it was the only word he knew. Our sweat-covered, alcohol ensconced bodies continued to move despite that molten liquid feeling that settled into my blood. I could barely feel the air around me, could barely feel Milo as his hand cupped my cheek. I was only staring up, up, up at the willow tree dancing and swaying above me. I was gone. The alcohol had sent me away. 

“Keorah,” Milo breathed, his violet eyes entering my vision narrowed with concern. His words were just as slurred and lopsided as mine. How he managed to stay upright baffled me completely. Quickly, he withdrew himself from me then kneeled before me, cupping my cheek with his hand. I blinked slowly, unable to focus my eyes on his face. It was twirling, spinning, those violet eyes never quite meeting mine as they careened with the rest of the world.

“Cauldron boil me,” he swore under his breath and I closed my eyes. I just wanted to be in bed. I just wanted to sleep forever, to let the darkness envelop me and never let me go. Maybe I’d find Mama in that darkness, maybe we’d be reunited just like she promised she would—

“Goodnight, Milo,” I mumbled before winnowing away. I could hear his shouts of protest as I fell through the world and both my feet landed on the smooth carpeted floor of my room. 

It was dark save for the few drafts of moonlight filtering through the semi-closed drapes. Carrick snored softly sprawled across my four poster bed, tired after a long day’s journey to the border and back. He couldn’t have arrived long ago, and I knew he would’ve noted my absence and would probably grill me in the morning. In my drunken, delirious state, I didn’t care. Until I looked down and realized that I was wholly naked and bit back the urge to laugh.

My surroundings tilted and swayed as I tip toed to the bathroom. Closing the door softly behind me to not awake the slumbering beast, I sighed and clutched the lip of the cold porcelain sink before me, trying to regain my bearings, to completely wrap my head around what’d just happened. 

I had sex. With Milo. 

I just gave away my virginity to the heir to the Night Court in a drunken flurry without half a thought’s hesitation. I blinked at the incredulousness of the thought, how if someone were to tell me such a thing a month ago, I would’ve laughed in their face. 

But there was something in that coupling that’d sent my bones singing. My very soul was so content at the touch of his skin against mine, and the feeling of his generous length within me made my toes curl against the bath mat that cradled my feet. He’d been so rough; he’d been so gentle. 

I knew that the moment my father found out, I’d be dead. 

And I realized as I stared up at my dull, lifeless eyes that maybe that’s why I’d allowed it to happen. 

If it made me a horrible, horrible person, then so be it. All the more reason to be wiped from this earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things got...steamy. And really complicated.   
> Sorry for not putting the NSFW warning in the summary of the chapter, I always feel like it spoils the surprise! I hope I didn't cause any awkward situations for those reading in public.   
> Once again, sorry for the delay, but I'm trying to stay ahead while I can! I'm at chapter 12 right now and I know that if I release all the chapters at once that I'll feel too overwhelmed and won't want to finish the story. I'm sorry if this means slower updates, but it'll be worth it in the end, trust me!   
> I'd also like to say that I know I use very heavy topics in these books, specifically self-harm, suicide, mental illness, etc. Please know that I don't write these topics for the sake of shock factor. I am personally affected by mental illness and have found myself in many situations that Keorah and Milo experience throughout this story and in a way it's an outlet for me to express those feelings and express those toxic thoughts that I am subjected to as well. If anybody thinks that I am using certain wrong connotations or saying anything offensive/wrong/misinformed, please feel free to message me with your thoughts and criticisms, because I am always open to constructive criticism and would love to use your feedback to improve my writing and my knowledge.   
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	9. Rage and Wreckage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Major tea is spilled. 
> 
> Trigger Warning: Suicidal ideation, suicidal intentions, mention of self-harm, physical/emotional abuse

_CHAPTER 9_

 

Milo

She’d winnowed away before I could hold her, kiss her, talk to her—

She’d left me there panting, naked as the day I was born with a bottle of scotch and a mind so far gone I couldn’t keep my eyes open for more than a second. I only cleared the remnants of our picnic (and our torn clothes) away with a blink of an eye before winnowing back to the manor and straight into my bed, not trusting myself to walk while the world was spinning so quickly. My parents did not stir. I passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow. 

* * *

“Why the hell do you reek of a tavern?”

I groaned as my eyes squinted open to slits to find my mother standing before my bed, hands cocked on her hips. I hadn't heard fury in her voice like that since she'd caught me trying to sneak jewels from Amren's trove despite her many warnings against it. I closed my eyes once more as a wave of pain consumed my head. Oh, I drank way too much last night. 

"Scotch," was all I answered before burrowing myself deeper under the plush pillows. The sunlight and sound were too much stimuli for my current state of mind. 

"Milo." Mum's demand was stern. "Milo." She repeated when I didn't answer. 

I heard dad sigh and mumble something along the lines of 'Here we go'. I ignored him. 

Then a bucket full of water crashed into me. 

I was gasping, coughing upright in bed. Dad's roar of laughter echoed off the walls as I shook my hair free of water, sending droplets everywhere, and tried to wipe down what was leftover on my bare torso. 

"Really, mum?"

"Yes, really," she glared at me as I tried to wipe the sleep from my eyes. Though the water was infuriating, it did help ease the headache if only slightly. I blinked as I took in the room around with me. My mind felt like it’d been stuffed with cotton balls. How did I even make it back here last night? All I remembered was Keorah—

Keorah. We’d…

Mother above. Fuck, fuck, how could I have been so _stupid_ —

“What is it?” Dad was up in a second when he saw the immediate shift in me. Eyes wide, I gaped up at him in disbelief. His brows only furrowed, and ever so slightly he sniffed. 

To find Keorah and I’s scent mingled, tangled together. 

Dad swore under his breath. Mum was frowning, looking back and forth between the two of us. “What? What is it?” 

Dad only gave her a pointed look as silent words were communicated between the soul-bridge between them. Mum gasped and turned to me. “ _What?_ ”

“We were drunk!” I yelped, clutching the sheets around me. Oh gods, how did this get so damn twisted?

“She’ll be…” mum shook her head, raising both hands to cover her face. When they dropped back down to her sides, her skin was pale with fear. “ _She’ll be skinned alive for this, Milo_.” 

“I know,” I breathed, digging my palms into my eyes. My mate, she’d suffer because of my carelessness, my drunken stupor. Another way I’d failed the people I cared about the most, another reason to despise myself, another slash to add to the scars that lined my body—

“Milo,” Mum’s warm fingers cupped my cheeks and wiped at the wetness there. I didn’t even realized I was crying. “We’re going to fix this. I promise you, we’re going to fix this.”

 

Keorah

I blinked my eyes open to the sunlight filtering through the room. My head felt like somebody had struck it multiple times with a mallet. Then ran it over with a chariot. 

My entire being felt leaden and lethargic laying prostrate in my bed. Vaguely I felt the massive oaf slumbering obliviously at my side but only focused on the dull throb pulsing throughme. Carrick stirred next to me and I stilled, holding my breath, placing a glamour over my scent, willing it to coat me as it coated my skin and hid the marks beneath it.

Carrick’s lips found my neck then continued up to my jaw and finally my lips. I tried not to wince at the feeling of him against me. 

“Morning, sweetheart,” he whispered and reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. 

“Morning my love.” The words tasted wrong on my tongue. “Did you sleep well?”

“Better once you finally came to bed,” he grunted, propping his head up on his elbow. “Where were you last night?”

My heart thundered. There was no accusation, no bite to his words, but the mere fact he knew I’d been gone… I scrambled for the only excuse I could think of. “In the library. I couldn’t sleep, so I tried to read to tire myself.”

His eyes hardened and I knew I said the wrong thing. “See, that’s funny, because I searched the library four times for you when your father and I got back. I searched the entire manor but you were nowhere to be found.”

I only swallowed. The silence between us stretched longer and longer, the anger brewing in his eyes becoming stronger and stronger. Before things could get worse, I dragged myself out of bed. I was naked, but I didn’t care. Only pulled on my loose robe and began tucking my hair into a low bun. Vesna would be arriving soon to help me ready for the day, anyway, so he’d need to leave. 

Footsteps thundered over to where I stood, and he demanded to my back, “Where were you?” 

“I was out.”

“Doing what?”

“I went for a bloody walk, Carrick, can you just drop it?”

So quickly I barely had time to react he whipped me around, his fingers digging into my shoulders. There was a wildness to his eyes, a fire that I’d never seen in him before. He must’ve saved this tone and behaviour for his legion. Indeed, a feral beast incarnate. “Don’t,” he growled, “speak to me like that.”

But I wasn’t buying it. I knew that my time was limited. I knew that I didn’t have much to say left on this earth, and that whatever time I had remaining should be spent voicing the truth. “I’ll speak to you however I damn please.”

The loud clap came before the pain. 

It blossomed through my cheek, only adding to the festering ache within my head. He released me, and silently I raised my hands to cup where his hand had stricken me. Carrick stood there, breathing hard, no hint of remorse or regret anywhere in his features. The male that stood before me was the person I would be chained to for the rest of my life. Without another word, I entered the washroom and closed the door softly behind me. 

What he’d just done was a testament to his values and true nature. A taste of what eternity would be like with him. And I was so damn glad I wouldn’t be there to live it. 

* * *

Vesna brushed my hair in silence. I only stared down at my hands in my lap, smoothing out the folds and invisible wrinkles in my dress. Anything to distract myself from the horrors I was about to face, to the severity of what I was about to do. Would Mama be happy? Would she be like she was in my dream, or would she scorn me for being so weak?

Vesna opened her mouth. My eyes flicked up at the motion. She closed it, thinking better of it, then opened it once again, her gaze finding mine in the mirror. 

“I have never seen you so devoid of light, my dear.”

I blinked at the words. Vesna, the woman who’d seen me through the entirety of my miserable existence. The one who stood by me each morning no matter what. 

I swallowed hard at the lump in my throat and said quietly, “Sometimes the darkness is just too great.”

She motioned for me to stand and I did. Fixing a few stray hairs, she took in my appearance. I was probably the worst I’d ever been: 

Sunken eyes and thin, wan cheek bones. Close to colourless skin and lips. My once golden hair was dull and dead from the lack of nutrients, and swept back into a low bun it didn’t help hide the fact that my collarbones were jutting out of my body, almost as though someone had balled my skin in their hands and pulled it tightly over my bones. Not to mention that my glamor was coating every inch of me. Without it… I may as well have been a corpse already. I was a skeleton of the girl I once knew. 

“Keke,” Vesna, with her eyes of ochre and golden tree bark skin, held a palm to the centre of my chest and looked me dead in the eyes. “There is always light. _Always_. You just need to find the bravery to wander through that darkness and turn it on.”

The words shuddered through me. Mama would always say that on my bad days. 

I gave only a curt nod before heading for the door.

* * *

The black dress was fitting as it seemed I was walking to my own funeral entering the dining hall this morning.

There was a thick silence that shaped the air. I did not dare glance at Milo, seated as per usual to Papa’s right. Before it was to lessen the tension between the two High Lords, but now I couldn’t think of a worse seat for him to be in as I sank down across from him. 

We did not look at each other. Not as the silence bore down upon us, not as even the sounds of silverware against fine china seemed too loud at the moment. 

It was Carrick that made the first crack. “Nice of you to finally deign to join us. I’d ask you where you were, but you’d probably lie.”

My hand froze halfway on its path to reach for the pile of sliced fruit. Feyre and Rhysand glanced between the two of us and kept quiet, though they’d stopped picking at their food. Papa raised his eyebrows incredulously at me. Milo’s expression remained neutral, though I swore I felt pure, lethal indignation leaking from him.

I only cleared my throat and said dully, “Not at the dining table.”

“Do not condescend me, Keorah,” Carrick’s voice trembled with restrained rage.

“Do not provoke me, Carrick,” the bite in my words was enough for Papa to jump in. 

“Enough of this.”

Silence ensued once more. Appetite forgotten, I resorted to heaping a pile of oatmeal onto my plate as I did every other morning and swishing it around, sipping occasionally at my red rose tea. The cup was warm and soft against my hands, and I raised it to my lips ready for its burning liquid to calm my nerves—

“Where is your ring?”

I looked down at my left hand where the skin laid bare, then up at Milo, who’s eyes widened imperceptibly.

Milo. He’d thrown it into the pond. I could still hear the satisfying ‘plop’ it made before it sank down to the murky depths of the water. So careless.

“Upstairs.” The lie slipped easily off my tongue

“You’ve lied to me already once today, Keorah, another and I’ll—”

“Tamlin, please call your dog off of your daughter before I lose my appetite.” Rhysand’slazy words interrupted Carrick.

“No, I’m actually quite interested in what my watch dog has to say, Rhysand,” Papa’s words held an edge that made my stomach quiver. Though I was ready, I was so ready to be ended, the fear of my father was still strongly laced within me. But that wanting to die was stronger.

“Keorah, here, was missing all night, and lied when I asked about her whereabouts, as any partner who had nothing to hide would do.” The sarcasm and pure arrogance in his words had me holding back a growl. “And now it seems her engagement ring has gone missing once again. Do you not want to marry me? Is that it?”

Steeling my spine, I released the breath I didn’t realize I was holding and said, “Yes. I don’t want to marry you Carrick.”

Nobody said anything. The world stopped spinning. Time stopped moving. Everything seemed to pause as my words sounded through the room, the first true, bold act of defiance I’d made on my own since Mama died. 

The final acts that would lead me back to her. 

“ _Keorah_.” Papa’s hiss was enough to send a shudder down my spine, and a phantom pain raced across my back, my abdomen. I knew what the words would cost me. But to be relieved of this endless void, this inky darkness, this utter emptiness—I’d do it. 

“Take that back.” Carrick snapped. 

“No.” I said once more, rising from where I was seated. “I don’t want to marry you, Carrick, and you’ll find that you won’t want to marry me either.” I loosened that glamor upon myself, the one covering my scent, and sent it to him on a phantom wind. 

Carrick’s face dropped into utter shock.

“Keorah, what are you _doing_ —” Milo tried to protest but I sent him a glare that silenced him. 

Papa stared at the heir of night as well, and if looks could kill, Milo’s blood would’ve been smeared across the marble floors. 

“ _You promised me a bride!_ ” Carrick’s cry of outrage shook the chandelier, made the teacups rattle in their saucers. But Papa only remained planted in his chair. Rhysand and Feyre exchanged wary looks with each other then with their son, but Milo only had eyes for me, eyes filled with outage and confusion. 

When Papa realized what had been done, exactly what that mingled scent truly meant, his chair was thrown against the wall as he stood, storming before me. “ _You sullied yourself to an Illyrian half-breed?_ ”

“Watch your fucking mouth,” Feyre growled, but Papa paid her no attention.

“Leave.” He commanded, his voice steeped in rage and wrath and fury. 

Carrick, wisely, winnowed without protest. Rhysand glanced to his mate once more then to his son, a silent conversation passing between the two until the High Lord and High Lady disappeared as well. 

“If you know what’s good for you, boy, you’d go right now with the rest of them.” Papa’s emerald eyes burned through Milo’s who reflected equal resentment for the male before us. 

“If you know what’s good for you, Tamlin, you will let your daughter and I leave in peace.” Milo stepped between my father and I. I trembled with fear, but cooled it with acceptance at the fate I knew I needed to let befall me. Yet I couldn't comprehend why Milo jumped to my defence after I so blatantly threw him to the wolves. 

“I am nearly five hundred years your junior in the prime of my strength. Please save yourself the embarrassment of having your ass handed to you by an Illyrian half-breed.”

Papa’s claws unleashed themselves and slashed so quickly across Milo’s face I barely had time to blink before—

Before Milo caught that wrist and twisted it backwards so far Papa roared in pain before Milo finally released him. Papa was panting, cradling his probably broken wrist, and I took the moment of pause to clutch Milo’s shoulders. His face, thank the mother, was unscathed. Papa was fast, but Milo was faster.

“I’m sorry,” I panted to Milo, my words panicked and hoarse, but it’s what I needed to do, whether he agreed with it or not. “I’m sorry. I will make it up to you. Just leave, please.”

“I am not leaving you with that bastard,” he breathed, balking at the absurd idea. “Keorah, if we leave, we leave together—”

“Let me handle this.” I snapped, urging that command into my tone, the command I would’ve one day needed as a High Lady holding court, the command I needed to do this final act. “You don’t know what you’re walking into, Milo.”

He still wasn’t convinced. “Keorah—”

“No,” and my voice broke on the word. I knew Papa was healing himself, that he’d be up on his feet again before I knew it, so I used the emotion to my advantage. “No, I need to do this myself.”

“Keorah—”

Like he was a piece of furniture, or a book or an orange, I willed him away. Between the pockets of the world, I folded him and sent him to the Night Court, and he vanished into thin air as though he’d winnowed on his own accord. There one moment, gone the next.

Papa rose to his feet the second his strength came to him.

The walls were trembling. The entire dining table was trembling, tea being spilt from their cups, fine china cracking under the tremors of rage Papa expelled—

But I did not run. I did not hide. I stood there, back straight, chin up. I would face him one last time. 

No matter the outcome. I would face it, as Mama taught me to face him, as Mama faced him herself. 

“Two can play that game Papa,” I said with lethal calm. Suddenly, the entire dining table flipped over itself and I sent it careening against the back wall leaving only empty space within the dining room. Sentries were screaming, shouting to sound the alarm, but with a flourish of my hand the door slammed shut on a phantom wind. 

“You think you can challenge me?” He demanded as he approached. His wrist was still crooked, but the pain must’ve been secondary to the anger radiating off of him. Those emerald eyes I’d come to despise were bloodshot and seemed to narrow to dark empty pits. This was not my father. This was the leftover vessel of five hundred years spent living his miserable, cruel existence, trying to hinder that same misery upon his daughter. I wouldn’t take it. 

“Yes, I think I can challenge you,” I spat. There were living balls of flame forming in my hands and they reflected in the surprised eyes that took in my demonstration of power. “While you’ve been plotting how to make my life as wretched as possible, I’ve been learning. I’ve been training. So I could one day take you down and show you exactly what your darkness has taught me.”

“If your mother was here—”

“If Mama was here,” I bellowed, “she would tear you apart for all that you’ve done to us!”

As I neared him, his claws unleashed themselves completely. “Do not speak of her, you ungrateful bitch—”

“You are a monster,” I breathed, closing the distance between us. “You are a _monster_. You’ve ruined me, your own flesh and blood, and you _tortured_ Mama and I for years!”

“I did no such thing!”

“Yes you did!” I poked him squarely in the chest, and he stumbled back at the sheer force I willed into it, my fae strength over powering his balance. “You beat us, belittled us, controlled us in the name of what—protecting us?”

“Stop this!”

“If you weren’t the monster you were,” I cried, “then Mama wouldn’t have _fucking killed herself!_ ”

Those words were his unbecoming.

He launched himself at me, and I didn’t fight back. Didn’t fight back as those claws impaled my shoulder, then began slicing once more, carving up the dress, carving up my body, my flesh—

But I deserved it. I deserved it. I failed Mama, and now I would join her. 

He threw me against the wall, and the impact was enough to send the chandelier careening to the floor. The resounding sound of the crash was deafening as millions of shards and crystals exploded across the dining room, but all I could feel was that blinding pain as the blood poured out of me across the marble floor. I coughed, my chest heaving and I winced at the agony even the slightest movement caused, but slowly as my blood emptied itself onto the tile, the throbbing subsided, and a numbness took its place. My eyes closed in relief. _I will be with you soon, Mama,_ I thought, my breaths becoming more shallow. _Just like I promised. Us two against the world._

An image of her stark platinum hair contrasting against the darkness of her skin filled my mind. That nightmare that'd scared me awake only a few days ago would now become a reality. She was right. I would still have to deal with this pain, these scars, this twisted, messed up situation—only by myself now—so why not put an end to it all? 

When I opened my eyes, Papa was there once again, dragging my body up and pinning me against the wall so we were face to face. I couldn’t even feel the pain anymore. It had become so bad that my body ceased to acknowledge it. 

“It should have been you,” he whispered. 

With all my remaining strength, I spit into his face. 

The walls of the manor came crumbling down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really trying to keep up with writing but right now I'm having a bit of writer's block and I've been stuck on the same scene for like five days. But don't worry folks, I ain't stopping yet. Like it's so weird to think that this is just a fraction of what's going to happen.  
> Yeah. Anyway, hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans


	10. Scars and Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah adjusts to life in the Night Court... the results are sub-par.  
> Trigger warning: suicidal ideation, mentions of physical abuse.

Milo

Dad told me he would be at the townhouse, that should anything happen, I would winnow there. 

But as I was being folded between the pockets of the world against my will, my head was roaring with one thought, repeating over and over again: _Keorah, Keorah, Keorah, Keorah—_

I was falling through the sky, tumbling and the land below me was unfamiliar to my eyes, but the singing of my blood alerted me that she’d indeed sent me to the Night Court. One thought and I was winnowing once again. 

My feet slammed into the carpet of the townhouse foyer and I nearly collapsed right then and there. When I looked up, the sitting room was filled with the Inner Circle who stared at me still and quiet as death. 

Mum was the first to rush to me, look me over from head to toe and clutch my face. Once she deemed me safe and unhurt, she looked behind me, only to see vacant space. 

“Where is she?”

The words echoed through me. _Where is she where is she where is she_

“She… she sent me away,” I choked. My pleading eyes tilted up to meet my mother’s, and they were filled with tears. “She told me to go, and I didn’t know what to do—”

“You left her?” Mum demanded incredulously. Panic seized her voice. 

“Never.” I seethed. “Never. It was like she winnowed me away. I couldn’t control it.”

Mum looked to dad whose brows were narrowed in fierce concentration. “Is that possible?”

“I’ve never seen it done, but I guess…”

“She’s—” I began, but I didn’t have time to finish the thought as pain crushed my entire body. 

The scream that filled the foyer of the townhouse cleaved through any other thought or feeling. The bond was breaking, the bond was _breaking_ —

“ _MILO!_ ” Dad was clutching my shoulders but all I could think of was Keorah, my mate, she was… she was _dying_ —

“Feyre, go now!” Dad’s voice was the only thing I could focus on. I had no strength to winnow, no strength to defend and protect my mate, even with that bargain we’d made—

Black spots danced in my vision and I fell to my knees, clutching my head. “Elain, Nesta, take Isra to the house. Cassian, Azriel, go fetch Madja, and tell her it’s an emergency. Mor, come help me with Milo.”

Hands were lifting me, dragging me across the carpet, slapping me out of my stupor, but I just kept thrashing and bellowing at the torment ripping through me.

 

Keorah

There was only one thing keeping me grounded, keeping my weary soul from leaving this earth. 

A thread of light and darkness, night and dawn, of infinite eternity and rose-scented starlight.

I’d felt it a few times, tugging, urging me on, and there was something, some _one_ at the end of that tug. I didn’t know who, but—

It felt like I belonged there. It felt like home. 

I was caught in that in between. At one point, there was that thread, but there was also light at the other end and Mama, what about _Mama_ —

A pressure was lifted off my chest and I was being lifted. Dust and debris coated my face, and my mouth was full of ash and chalk, so much that I coughed and heaved within the arms that held me. 

“Let her go!” Those shouts, Papa's shouts, they were incessant, but I had no strength to part my lips and protest. 

“I have half a mind to put you in your grave right now,” my saviour's voice warned. A female voice, soothing and faceted as the night sky. Lady Feyre. “But I'll save that killing blow for her.” She tightened her arms around my body in emphasis. No, no, I wasn’t supposed to be rescued, what was she _doing_ —

“You make one move to leave, Feyre, and you've got a war on your hands.”

“I tore your court to shreds once, Tamlin.” She said quietly, but with enough conviction to send lesser males to their knees. “Do not think I won't do it again.”

The cry of outrage that tore from Papa's mouth followed us as we winnowed away, but before I could take in my new surroundings my eyes fell closed, the blood loss finally catching up to me. 

 

Milo

Once she crossed the threshold, the searing pain ceased all at once. 

Without thinking I dove for her, crying out as I saw the blood covering her entire body, the massacred, shredded skin that was once smooth and porcelain-like—

He’d ravaged her completely. 

“ _Oh gods, oh gods, oh rutting gods_ —”

Keorah’s lips were blue, the skin of her face pale and colourless as mum gently laid her on the cot dad had ordered Mor to bring down. Instantly I was kneeling beside her, pushing the blood stained hair out of her face. 

My mate, my beautiful mate, looking as though death had already claimed her.

My heart caved in on itself. 

Mum unsheathed the dagger at her waist and sliced a cut into the side of her wrist, then held it up to my mate’s mouth. “Hopefully this will hold her over until Madja gets here.”

“He…” my voice was rough and gravelly from the screaming. “he did this to her?”

A solemn nod. “When I got there, the entire dining room had collapsed on itself. She was buried beneath the rubble.”

Mor swore from behind me, and Dad’s swift steps sounded closer to us until he laid a supportive hand on my shoulder. But all I could think of was her emerald eyes, the ones I’d stared into when I vowed to keep her safe, to protect her…

“I promised to protect her,” I did not wipe away the tears that escaped my eyes. “I promised to protect her and now…”

The glamour I’d kept on my tattoo faded away, the one that’d sealed our bargain, the closest thing I had to a bond without the real thing itself. Despite being unconscious, the glamour that she’d placed over her matching ink was still heavily opaque atop the skin. 

She hadn’t shown signs of any abuse, any scars until now. And I wondered, with the strength of that glamor covering the tattoo…

Cass and Az burst through the door with Madja, our family’s healer, in tow and the latter was instantly across from me leaning down to take in the scene before her. She did not balk at the sight of blood, which before had seeped through the cot, but now began clotting at the frayed edges of flesh. 

She began her work immediately, reaching for her tool kit to cut away the remains of her black gown. Her entire bare abdomen was exposed, and dad soon began ushering them further into the house to allow Madja the space to do her job and for Keorah’s privacy. Lifting her glowing hands above Keorah’s lifeless form, Madja’s power made those ribbons of flesh slowly gather together upon her torso. I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up to see mum holding a hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs. Her body shook with the effort. The sight only made me shed even more tears, and I only squeezed her hand, not being able to imagine what kind of memories this must’ve triggered for her. 

Keo’s head lolled to the side and her lips parted to let out a pained groan. I was leaning down over her in an instant, pushing her hair to the side, laying a careful hand against her cheek.

“Keorah?” I breathed. She only let out another broken sob. 

Mum disappeared into clouds of darkness and starlight only to reappear moments later with a warm, damp washcloth in her hand which she handed to me. I slowly smoothed the cloth over Keorah’s forehead, wiping away any residing caked on blood. Her hand jerked and searched beside her, and I found it instantly, wrapping my fingers around hers. They clutched mine dearly as Madja continued her work in silence, the gore caking my mate’s body only minutes ago dissipating bit by bit. 

“I’m right here angel,” I murmured as I continued my ministrations with the wash cloth. The wince of pain that sat on her face before began to clear. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Milo?” The words were choked and hoarse, but they made my chest heaved a sob of relief at the sound. She was going to be okay. 

“Yes, angel, it’s me,” I whispered, giving her hand a little squeeze. “You’re in the Night Court, somewhere safe.”

Keorah’s eyes finally opened, and the pain, fear and panic lingering there were like knives to my heart. Her eyes searched the room around her before they settled upon me.

“I’m so sorry,” I kept saying the words over and over in my head, because I’d failed her, I’d failed my mate so miserably—

Three gut-wrenching, ear-splitting snaps resonated through the room and my Keorah’s chest jumped. Her face was one of pure agony, and I looked to Madja desperately, who only said with a coolness her years of practice instilled within her, “Broken ribs that’ve remained unfixed for about a year.”

“Mother above,” mum cursed beneath her breath, then left the room, unable to hear another word that Madja had to say. I only remained focused on my mate’s face, weathered and lined with suffering. 

After a few more minutes of torturous cries from Keorah, cries I could only comfort by letting her squeeze my hand or smoothing back her hair with the cloth, Madja finally lowered her hands and sighed. 

“Rest. Lots of it. I’ll check back with her in a few hours.”

Then she was gone, heading for the door, and I was left alone with my mate. The person I'd sworn to protect. The person I had failed so miserably today. 

Keorah shifted in her cot. Those emerald eyes opened to slits and they were filled with tears as she croaked, “I'm sorry.”

“What could you possibly have to be sorry for?” I demanded softly, stroking my thumb across her cheekbone to wipe her tears. 

“For dragging you into this mess, for using you, then for making you see all that—”

“Angel,” I cut her off, and lifted my right hand to point to the ink that lay there, “I swore to protect you, no matter the circumstances. I'm the one that should be apologizing. And if I'd known that that bastard was doing this to you…” the anger beneath my skin was enough to incinerate the Spring Court to a pile of ash and dust. “Then I would've ripped his rutting throat out the minute I stepped foot into that manor.”

She was sobbing now, hard, and tentatively, I asked, “Can I… can I hold you?”

She considered it for a moment then gave a weak nod. 

I cradled her head with my arm to hold her against me as the sobs tore through her. It pained every fibre of my being to see her like this, to know that she had been suffering so silently all these years. 

I whispered soothing words to her, and soon enough she began to settle down until her frame was heavy and limp in my arms and her breathing finally slowed to a dull, rhythmic pace. Hesitantly, I allowed myself to press a kiss to her forehead, which was still carrying flecks of blood, then laid her gently back down on the cot.

* * *

"I'm taking her to the cabin,” was the first thing I said to the Inner Circle and my parents as I brushed by them in the crowded kitchen. Mor, uncle Cass and uncle Az wore hard, concerned expressions on their face, while dad clutched mum against him and smoothed down her hair. They were instantly alert as I began pacing across the length of the floor, digging my nails into my palms. 

“What?” mum pushed off of dad and wiped at the wetness under her cheeks. If I were any less stressed, I would've comforted her, embraced her, but my thoughts were only with my mate lying in the cot in the next room. 

“I'm taking her to the cabin while she heals. She needs to rest.”

“Milo.” Dad's command was stern, but I paid him no heed, only paced and paced until I felt his hands on my shoulders.

_Milo_. My name echoed within my mind, and only then did I look up into my father's eyes, piercing through the swirling sea of thoughts that I was tumbling around. He stopped me in my tracks, then after a moment, released his grip on me to lower his hands to mine. I stared down and saw that they were coated in blood from my nails digging into the flesh. 

_You can't make decisions when your mind is in disarray._

I gave only a nod as I focused on repairing the severed tissue of my palms. _She is too weak to winnow right now. Even if she could, you would have to winnow and fly back and forth to the cabin whenever Madja needed to check in on her which will only exhaust you, and make you less capable of taking care of your mate. Now, take a deep breath, eat something, then we'll figure it out from there._

“Okay,” I murmured, “okay.”

Strong arms enveloped me and I fell into my father’s embrace. Before I knew it I was sobbing, clutching the jacket of his dark suit, and dad only held me tighter against him as my tears formed a wet patch on his shirt. Soon enough, mum was right there beside us, squeezing us in a crushing embrace of her own. 

The sound of footsteps slamming into the ground echoed throughout the entire townhouse and it was enough to have mum, dad and I sprinting toward the door, embrace forgotten. 

But as we crossed into the sitting room, it was only my infant sister standing there, staring down at my mate lying asleep in the blood-soaked cot, then flicking that gaze innocently up to us. 

“Who is she?” Isra asked.

The door opened, and two stumbling figures crossed the threshold, panting and panicked. 

“She just left!” Was the first thing aunt Elain screeched as her beseeching eyes met my mother’s. “She was crying and complaining one moment, then the next—”

Aunt Elain and aunt Nesta took in the sight of Isra standing in the middle of the sitting room and instantly relief made their figures sag. Dad kneeled down and beckoned Isra towards him. She ran into his embrace. 

Softly, curiously, he asked, “How did you get here, my stardust?”

“I just thought of you all here,” she murmured, “and I thought of the townhouse. Then I was here.”

I looked to mum who only stared down at Isra in wonder. Indeed, she was proving her abilities very young. Much younger than me. 

“Who is she?” Isra repeated, pointing to my sleeping mate. “Why is she hurt?”

Mum jumped in, reaching out to stroke Isra’s soft, shoulder length hair. “She’s a friend. She was hurt and she’s just going to stay a while until she’s better.”

The room was too densely packed around Keorah. We needed to bring her somewhere else, to get this mess cleaned up. One pleading look to my mother and she jumped into motion.

“Let's all take a breather,” Mum suggested quickly. “A drink, maybe?”

“Definitely,” dad grunted as he scooped Isra into his arms. She reached out to me and I planted a soft kiss on her forehead, ruffling her hair before they all trudged out the door, leaving mum, Keorah and I in the sitting room. I could tell by my family's questioning looks they hadn't been filled in on what'd happened, but they swallowed their curiosity if only so I could have a moment of reprieve from the horrors I'd faced today. 

“Let's take her to the House of Wind. She'll be more comfortable up there."

I gave a weak nod before gently scooping Keorah into my arms. 

* * *

“Azriel sent word for Lucien,” Mum offered quietly. We sat in the atrium area curled on a lounge chair. Nuala and Cerridwen brought a platter of cheeses and fruits that remained untouched. My arms were wrapped around my knees pulled against my chest, and I stared down upon my home. It was mid-afternoon and the sun would set shortly. But all I could think of was the girl down the hall covered in blood, and how lifeless her blue lips looked, lips that'd I'd kissed only hours ago...

“It's my fault.”

“You can't think like that, Milo.” Mum inched closer and ran a soothing hand down my back. I'd been crying on and off all day, and it seemed like there were no tears left for me to shed. Only dark, endless emptiness within my mind. 

“If I hadn't been so stupid, careless, if I could've just _controlled_ myself—”

“Milo.” Mum’s grey eyes found mine and she gripped my shoulders. “Look at me. Did you force yourself upon her?”

“No,” I shook my head, disdained by such a vile thought, “ _never_. I could never.”

“Did she specifically tell you no or to stop?”

“No.”

“Did she say yes?”

“Yes. But mum, we were both so bloody drunk, she wasn’t in any state to give consent—”

“Yes, and I raised you to be a good male, Milo, and I know you’d never put anyone in any pain or danger. Especially someone as sacred to you as her.” She sighed, her eyes drooping, before continuing. “Being drunk isn’t an excuse. You know that. But she hasn’t shown any sign of regret about the coupling, and she hasn’t accused you of any wrong doing. She knew what was at risk, and despite both your states of mind, she did it anyway. But she doesn’t blame you.”

I nodded a little, and she gave my shoulder a squeeze. “It’s an awful, complicated situation, and beating yourself up for it isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

“Yeah,” I sighed. Then I looked up at her, eyebrows furrowed as I ran through what she’d told me, something she’d said that snagged my attention. “Dad told you, then? About Keorah and I?”

Mum swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“What am I going to do, mum?” My voice broke on the words. I stared down at my hands. I was so pathetic, so worthless and useless and despicable—

“You are going to get through this, alright?” She tilted my chin to meet her gaze. Her golden brown hair softened the sharp features on her face, which were filled with concern and love. “We are all here to support you in any way you need. Your job right now is just to make sure that she heals, and that she knows she isn’t alone.”

I nodded before she pulled me into her embrace. I hadn’t embraced my mother like that in a long while, just the two of us curled together on the chaise. She held me, rubbed my back and whispered soothing words as I sobbed into her shoulder at the utter unfairness of it all.

* * *

Keorah

The dull, throbbing pain radiated from my abdomen. 

I woke to golden sunlight and a citrus and sea-kissed breeze. The room around me was unfamiliar and sparsely decorated with only essential furniture, and gauzy white swaths of cloth adorning the open windows. White sheets hugged my figure as I stretched out my tired, aching limbs and tried to remember where I was, what’d happened—

Papa. Ripping me to shreds. Then being lifted, winnowed away to the foyer of some house—

And Milo. His amethyst eyes that’d been lined with silver as he let me squeeze his hand to try and distract myself from the searing pain. 

I swallowed hard and stared up at the white, high ceiling of my room. I was out. Out of Papa’s hands, out of my home. 

I didn’t know what to feel. _How_ to feel. Only stared down at the claw marks that left jagged, red scars all over my bare abdomen. The glamor still covered my skin and the older scars. Though now since Milo and his Inner Circle had seen the fresh ones, I supposed I didn’t need to cover these.

My eyes closed as the full brunt of what’d happened hit me. 

I didn’t die. I didn’t die like I’d planned to. And now I was here in the Night Court. 

How had things become so gloriously messed up?

A soft knock sounded at the door. Weakly, I called, “Come in.”

Milo, dressed in plain black trousers and a dark long sleeve shirt entered the room and quietly shut the door behind him. I didn’t care that I was naked under these sheets. He’d seen me like this before, anyways. Yet another way I’d hurt him, using his body for my own destruction. 

His face was gaunt and his eyes were bloodshot. Nonetheless he offered me a weak grin and stood above me to the right of my bed. 

“You’ve seen better days,” I noted drily, and he let out a low, faint chuckle. 

“Says you, angel.” He motioned if he could sit and I nodded. His weight settled beside me and he gently took my hands within his. My skin was sticky and clammy from sweat, dirt and grime. I needed a long, hot bath. 

Milo swallowed hard as he noticed the red, jagged scratch peeking out from beneath the covers. I pulled the sheets higher. 

“What happened?” 

He sighed and looked down at our joined hands. His thumb brushed back and forth along the back of my palm. “The entire dining room collapsed. Mum went herself to retrieve you. After Madja healed your wounds, we brought you here to the House of Wind. It is completely warded, so no one can winnow in here.” His eyes flicked to mine. “You’re safe. I promise.”

I licked my chapped lips and my voice cracked when I said, “I don’t know what to do.”

Before I knew it, tears fell onto my cheeks and I was sobbing, hard. No matter who governed that estate, no matter the vile cruelty Papa wreaked upon Mama and I, the Spring Court was my home. The rose-scented winds that woke me each morning and caressed my skin were a part of me, my very essence. To have to flee, to have to evade the only place I’d ever known because of my own _father_ …

I curled on my side, and Milo’s hand just rubbed up and down my shoulder. “You are under no obligation to stay here, and definitely no obligation to go home. But please know that you are welcomed in the Night Court.”

Nodding, I wiped my tears, and tried to control my shaky breaths. Milo’s face was solemn, hard. I whispered, “Can you help me to the washroom?”

A pause. Then he was up, scooping me into his arms with heartbreaking gentleness. Despite my nakedness, I felt comfortable in this male’s embrace. My arms hooked around his neck as he lifted me over to the ensuite. I buried my face into his chest and breathed in his comforting scent. Eucalyptus, pine and lemon verbena. 

My eyes opened a peek. Floor to ceiling windows gave a magnificent view of the city below, its denizens living their merry lives, unaware to the horrors that’d occurred today. Milo’s footsteps echoed off the marble tile and I barely registered the finery around me. The tub was wide, big enough to easily fit two, and the matching sink and vanity were of the finest moonstone tiles I’d ever seen. A soft thud sounded, and on the vanity laid a pale silk robe. 

“Do you think you can stand?”

I gave a vague nod. He carefully set me down, then reached around me to wrap me in the softness and warmth the robe offered. We stood there, staring at each other for a moment, a thick, easy silence between us. 

“You told him what happened. Willingly.” It wasn’t an accusation or a question, but a mere statement on how I’d belligerently offered up the fact that I’d sullied myself before my marriage to Carrick. Knowing full well what consequences would await me. 

I shrugged. “It’s not as simple as you think, Milo.”

“Then explain,” he breathed, his hands squeezing my shoulders gently enough not to hurt me, hard enough to feel that pressure. “Explain, because I don’t understand what’s going through your mind right now. And I need to know if I’m going to help you get better.”

“There is no ‘better’,” I scoffed, tearing from his grip to march over to the window. I stared across the expanse of the Night Court, wishing I could be anywhere but here having this conversation with him. How could he expect me to reveal so much of myself when I barely knew him? When he barely showed me the intimate parts of _his_ mind?

“Yes, there is, because you almost died today, practically at your own hands. You know what they call that?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Suicide.”

The word sliced through me and all I could think of was Mama in that bathtub, her dead cold body clutched in my arms—

“Milo,” I said, and my voice was thick with tears. “I wanted to die. I shouldn't have been rescued. I _want_ to die.” I shook my head. "And don't tell me that I'm stupid or crazy or argue with me because you don't know what it was like in there. You don't know what it's like in _here._ ” I tapped my temple. “I'm in hell. I want to die.” Then I was sobbing and trembling, and my knees felt weak with the emotion suddenly sweeping over me. 

Three sweeping strides and he was next to me, cradling me in his arms, but I did not open my embrace to him, only sobbed quietly into his chest. 

“How long?” Was all he said. I knew exactly what he meant, and a wall went up in my mind, blocking out the image of Papa’s face, of the terror that sluiced through me at the memory of those claws. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Angel—”

“I just need to be alone right now.” Milo backed away. I felt colder without those muscled arms around me, but I couldn’t stand revealing anything else to him, practically a stranger. His mouth opened to protest, but I added, “Please.”

Milo only shot me a concerned, desperate glance before turning and leaving without another word. 

Once he was gone, I padded towards the bath and ran the water, wishing that I could have some night berries and perhaps drown out the silence within my mind. Because sometimes, the silence is worse than the pain. Apathy is worse than agony. Silence, though it seems peaceful, serene, undisturbed… It can kill. 

* * *

I didn’t rise when the sun came up, and I didn’t rise when it sank back down below the horizon. 

Meals were delivered to my room. One look at the food had my stomach rolling. I only sipped at the chicken broth soup before burying myself deeper into the sheets, willing that darkness to wrap me until I couldn’t feel anything anymore. The only thing that reminded me I was still alive was the sting of the claw marks, and those three awful puncture wounds in my shoulder that sang every time they brushed wrong against the fabric of my sheets. Hours and hours would pass, only told by the rising and setting of the sun. Madja, my healer, would check in on me once a day to make sure the welts were healing properly. She was a female of few words, which didn’t bother me at all. All she ordered was rest. And boy, did I ever take those words to heart. Every time she exited, though, she asked if I wanted to see anybody. Each time, I gave her a stern no.

But today, as she lowered her glowing palms, she said, “Your blessed-father Lucien is here.”

I blinked. Lucien. How did he know where I was?

Madja sensed the confusion in my features and merely offered, “I do not know the details, my lady. Is it a yes or a no?”

I thought of it for a moment. Lucien had never seen me this way. Yes, he’d suspected something terribly wrong was going on before I’d sent him away all those weeks ago, but I hadn’t paid my blessed-father half a thought until his name was mentioned now. To see a familiar face…

“Send him in,” I croaked. The first words I’d spoken in days. 

Madja gave a curt nod before leaving. I shoved my sheets off and pulled my robe around my figure, securing it tightly before taking a seat on the cream lounge chair near the window. The snow outside hung off the rooftops of the city, still thick and powdery even this late in the year. Spring, for the solar courts at least, was just around the corner, though it didn’t seem like it at all up here in the northern most part of Prythian. 

The creak of my door was the only notice I had before somebody was running, rushing to me—

Lucien’s embrace was warm and comforting and everything I needed. We clutched each other, and he was sobbing into my shoulder, whispering he was sorry over and over again. I only hugged him tighter. 

We pulled away, and I was met with his look of pure devastation. “I couldn’t—I couldn’t enter the Spring Court, he’d warded against me, so I did the only thing I could—”

“Luci,” I whispered, cupping his cheeks, “it’s alright. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

He held my wrists. I wiped his tears away. My hands fell into my lap and I made room for him on the lounge chair, both looking out over the vast snow-covered land of the Night Court. 

“I never thought he'd go to such extremes.” Lucien commented quietly. “With Feyre, it was bad but he didn't...” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely to my torso. 

I shrugged. “It's all I've ever known.”

Lucien's head snapped towards me. “You mean he's done this—”

“Since I was a child.” I finished hollowly. I swallowed hard, and I could practically feel the anger radiating off my blessed-father. “It wasn't as bad at first. But over the years it got so much worse. For both Mama and I.”

“Lyra as well?” I nodded and he swore under his breath. “She wasn't killed by the Naga.” It was an affirmation more than a question. 

“Night berries,” I said softly. “I found her too late.”

The silence that ensued the words I never voiced aloud was so heavy it made me want to cave into myself. I could feel Lucien’s stare burning into the side of my face but I couldn’t look at him, I couldn’t bear his pain and anguish because I knew he was her friend, I knew he felt like it was his fault. 

He only draped an arm around me and pulled me into his side, hugging me closely to his. With my head nestled in the crook between his shoulder and neck, I could feel his tears dripping down onto my left temple. We sat there huddled against one another until sleep claimed me once more. 

* * *

Lucien didn’t stay long. When I woke up, he was gone, and I was left to the solitude of my room once more to brood and sleep as I’d done the previous days. Madja checked in on me once more, though this time was much shorter. The claw marks had reduced to pale, fine lines across my abdomen, only truly visible if you took a close look at them. I didn’t have the heart to tell her there were many, many more riddled along with them beneath my glamor, that the years of brutality written across my skin would never disappear no matter how hard she tried. 

At the end of today’s session, though, instead of our usual ritual, she sat down on the bed next to me. Her skin was made of tiny, beige and dust coloured plumes covering the entirety of her body and piercing yellow eyes the almost glowed in the dim light of the room. It was the crack of down, barely a sliver of sun had peaked over the mountains yet.

“I know how to heal the marks left upon one’s skin,” she began quietly, her eyes darting to where those faint lines laid. I shifted within the crisp white sheets that enveloped me. Two ghostly-like figures had come every two days or so to upkeep my room but spoke nothing to me. They’d been the same who delivered my meals and collected the full, untouched plates that remained. 

“But I am not experienced in the marks left upon one’s mind.” Gently, she touched three fingers to the crown of my head, and I blinked at the touch, but she only kept her gaze focused on her hands. Hands that’d been dedicated to helping others likely her entire life. What horrors she must’ve seen. She let out a sigh and stood. I curled the sheets further around me as she neared the large windows, taking in the beginnings of the day’s sunlight filtering through the gauzy white curtains. “What I do know, lady Keorah, is that you are digging your grave lying in that bed all day, wasting away. If you want to get better, if you want to get back to normal, then I suggest you _get up_.”

The crispness of her words made my eyes narrow, but she said nothing more before turning to leave, the door shutting behind her with a soft click. I scowled and curled deeper into my bed. 

What did she know? What the _hell_ did she know? She hasn’t been subjected to the cruelty I have; she hasn’t lived my life. The fact that she could even suggest such a thing made my blood boil beneath my marked skin. 

So what if I was wasting away? Days ago I’d been clawing my way into my grave, only to have them pull me back when I’d been so close to success. To be reunited with Mama, the only fucking person who understood my pain and my burdens. Mama, who left me here all alone, Mama who’d demanded I join her in the afterlife so we could finally have some damned _peace_ —

And normalcy. I’d never known normalcy. Normalcy for me was temper and anger and silverware rattling at the dinner table, normalcy for me was a life of secrecy, deception and hiding from Papa, from my court, from myself. I would never know a normal life or a so-called ‘normal self’, because that girl was exactly who I was right now: weak and cowardly.

I tossed and turned in my bed. Every other time I’d sunk into sleep, let the darkness lure me in and cradle me until I could drown out the thoughts crushing my mind. But this morning I was left staring up at the ceiling in defeat. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. And if it was, nothing stopped me from coming right back here. 

I slipped out of bed, sighing as my feet hit the floor, and pulled the white silk robe around me. It was the only piece of clothing I had here, though I suppose I hadn’t even bothered checking the door that lead to the closet or the intricate armoire sitting near the ensuite. Slowly, I padded over to it, and pulled back the drawers to reveal soft, comfortable fabrics. There was everything I needed: trousers, tunics, sweaters and even fighting leathers. These weren’t Peregryn, though, they were thicker and less pliable to adapt to the brisk cold of the North’s winter frost. Illyrian, their warriors were called, Milo or Rhysand or Feyre had mentioned.

Milo. I hadn’t thought of him since I’d ordered him to leave me alone that first night here. I swallowed and pulled on some dark leggings and a thick burgundy sweater, then headed to the bathroom. 

I hadn’t deigned to look at myself in the mirror since I’d arrived, but now that I did, I could barely bite back my frown of distaste. I looked like death warmed over. 

Closing my eyes, I braced myself on the edge of the sink, taking a few deep breaths before finally pushing off the porcelain and making a bee-line for the door. If I didn’t do it now, I didn’t think I could muster up the energy to try again anytime soon. 

The House of Wind was…enormous. Lavish. Exactly the luxury I thought the Night Court would promise. 

My room was just off of a corridor adorned with torches of faelight at every few intervals that opened up to a sitting room. I crept slowly to the end to find lush, deep indigo carpet accenting the velvet couches, long chaises and lounge chairs littered around the luminous space. A small bookshelf lay in the corner packed with thick novels, and fur blankets were strewn haphazardly across the back of the furniture, as though it were common for the house’s inhabitants to spontaneously curl up with a book. But what snagged my attention was the dozing male breathing evenly, inaudibly in the corner, huddled on a sofa far too small for his wide frame. 

Milo didn’t stir as I stepped into the room, taking in the wide ceilings and sunlight beginning to fill the space as the sun crested over the mountains and rose into its designated spot in the sky. I stared around in wonder at the beauty that’d been waiting for me just outside my four walls. 

“Her Majesty has finally deigned to join us.”

My eyes narrowed and I seethed to the male peeling himself off the couch, “Prick.”

But then his voice was sounding through my mind, _How are you feeling, angel?_

I flinched. How did he do that? Could he see my thoughts? Was he rummaging through my mind at this very moment, sifting through the darkness and secrets tucked away into the folds of my thoughts—

_No_ , that midnight voice answered, sensing the panic and confusion consuming me. _I'm daemati, remember?_   _Just tell me how you're feeling._

_How the hell do you think?_ I shot back. This was too much, I shouldn’t have walked out of that bloody room, shouldn’t have gotten out of that bloody bed—

_Stay_. 

The word echoed off the walls of my mind. 

_Please_. 

His violet eyes were pleading, and I hadn’t seen such desperation laced within him since I’d met him. 

Milo and I stood there in silence, and he tipped his head toward me. “What finally got you up?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t feel like a bruise anymore.”

“Oh, you and I both know it wasn’t your physical pain keeping you holed up in there.”

“I am not in the mood to be talked down to, Milo.” The bite in my words was enough for him to soften. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

“I'm sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. It was my shitty attempt to ask you how you were fairing. Up here.” He tapped his temple, like he too knew the choking clouds of toxicity that could turn your thoughts against you until you were a living corpse.

I took a deep breath, about to protest, about to resist further until Madja’s words sounded against in my head, and I decided to offer him some truth. “I don’t know, honestly. Everything’s just so muddy. Some days I’m sad or angry or hopeless, but some days I can’t think straight.”

His eyes were tinted with grave understanding. “Like you don’t even know who you are anymore.”

I nodded. “Exactly.”

He looked down at his feet, then back up to me. “Is there anything I can do? Anything we can do? To help you?”

Once again, my gaze wandered around the estate, the intricacies that adorned the high walls filled with memories and ancient history, then to the window and the city that laid beyond where hope beckoned. Where life beckoned. 

“Show me your court,” I said softly. “I’ve seen the entirety of Prythian except the mighty North.”

“My court is best seen at night,” he countered. He looked me up and down, then said, “But I can give you an aerial tour. Then we can eat breakfast.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “I’d like to meet your family as well.”

“Mother above,” he swore under his breath. “I don’t think I’m ready for this.”

“Why’s that?” I quirked an eyebrow. 

“If you thought my parents and I were abnormal, you aren’t ready for the rest of the Inner Circle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of you may be confused as to why the beginning of this chapter was a repeat of itself, and that's because I felt it would be better to leave the previous chapter on a cliff hanger. Don't worry, it doesn't affect up-to-date readers at all, it just makes it a little more shook-y for future readers.   
> I just hit 75 000 words (yahoo!) and things are looking REAL exciting. I can't wait to share all my ideas with you. EEP!   
> I'd also like to say just how grateful and thankful I am for each and every one of your comments. They seriously make my day and motivate me to keep writing. You're all too sweet!  
> As always, I hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	11. Threats and Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah is introduced to the Inner Circle. Awkward family moments.  
> Trigger warning: graphic mentions of self-harm.

_CHAPTER 11_

Milo

When I first saw Keorah in the middle of the sitting room, it was like I was staring at a ghost. 

She was swimming in the fabric of clothes that surrounded her, and it made me want to reach out and envelop her in my embrace, to protect her from the horrors that must’ve been racking her mind. And I wanted to burn the entire Spring Court to the ground for what Tamlin did to her. 

We weaved our way through the House of Wind until we reached the balcony attached to the dining room we used as our main entrance and exit. Keorah blinked against the harsh sunlight blinding her eyes and I only unfurled my wings with a loud, echoing snap. It made Keorah jump and I laughed at her frazzled expression, which only made her poke me hard in the shoulder. 

“Your chariot awaits, my lady,” I spread my arms and she rolled her eyes, yet held me tightly as I scooped her up then lifted off with a great flap of my wings. My skin stung beneath my clothing, but I ignored it.

We soared through the open skies across the sleeping city, still far too early for its denizens to be awake after a night’s full of perpetual celebration and debauchery. The Sidra’s briny mist met us and I took a deep breath of the fresh scent mingling with Keorah’s rose and vanilla musk. When I looked down, my mate’s eyes were wide with wonder. 

“It’s gorgeous,” she breathed, taking in the beauty of Velaris. I banked until we neared the estate, the house I was raised in on the side of the Sidra. Mum had designed the entire thing herself, set with an art studio, sparring rings, enough rooms to fit the entire damn court if we wanted, and art. So much art. Art that mum had painted herself or purchased from artists from the Rainbow. She even hung some of my drawings, including a portrait I drew of her and dad for solstice, and a sketch of all the Inner Circle’s members twined together. I only wondered who would be around this morning after the three hectic days we’d had. 

All of the High Lords were breathing down our necks about the stunt we’d pulled at the Spring Court. Mum broke some fundamental laws when she winnowed in to take Keorah away from the rubble because we’d had no time to do things by the book without risking my mate’s life, who’d been only seconds away from perishing. 

That thought never failed to send a shiver down my spine. 

Nonetheless, because we failed to mention the reason as to why we’d taken Keorah, people were very upset with us, namely Vivianne High Lady of the Winter Court who’d been good friends with Keorah’s mother. They demanded we return her at once lest we wanted a war on our hands. 

I didn’t care. If it was war they wanted, then war they would get. They weren’t going to take my mate away from me, and they certainly weren’t going to hand her back to the man that’d likely abused her her entire life. 

Keorah was silent throughout the flight home and when I touched down in the backyard, her brows raised to her hairline. I set her down gently, and she took a few steps forward, drinking in the sights of the courtyard. 

It was all grey and white coloured stone weaving paths throughout the yard separated by patches of grass, great big citrus trees with navy blue accents in the lounge chairs and umbrella shaded sitting areas. Along the right side of the yard was a flowing brook running from the house all the way down to meet the Sidra, not before connecting with a crystal blue pool magicked against the weather, leaves and snowfall. One corner of the yard was dedicated to the Illyrian sparring rings, equipped with an armoury and equipment closet, while the other was Elain’s garden which she changed by season. Currently she was getting ready for Spring so it laid adorned with winter’s leftovers which included amaryllis, carnations, gardenias, hybrid lilies and bright red berries speckled amongst the sea of white. The snow had begun melting and only a foot or so’s pile remained, which was pretty mild for what the North usually saw this time of year. 

“This is your _house_?” She asked. 

“Yup,” I said, popping the P. I slid my hands into my pockets, already strolling toward the house. When I saw she still stood fixated where she was, I inclined my head once more in the direction of our destination. “You coming?”

“It’s just so…”

“Big?” I finished. She nodded, and I said, “Believe me, when my entire family is reunited there, it can barely fit the size of their egos.”

* * *

Thankfully, when we entered through the double doors off the back deck, there were no signs of any other occupants within the manor. I led Keorah through the hallways to the kitchen where hopefully somebody had left some food so I could finally get some sustenance into my mate’s system and fill out the unhealthy hollowness in her cheekbones. As we padded down the oak hardwood floors, I heard quiet murmurs from the behind the closed doors of the dinette and resisted the urge to roll my eyes. _Here we go_ , I thought drily. 

I squeezed Keorah’s hand and shot her a forced smile before saying, “Looks like you’ll be meeting my family a little earlier than you anticipated.”

With that I pushed the doors open silence befell the table where my parents, uncle Cassian, uncle Azriel, Amren, aunt Mor, aunt Elain, aunt Nesta and Isra all sat, faces solemn and grave with the early morning. They surveyed Keorah where she stood facing them with a cool, indifferent stare, and her emerald eyes were bright and icy in the morning light. Silence encompassed the room. My heart was beating so loudly in my chest I was pretty sure everyone could hear it. 

It was Cassian who first spoke, a smirk lining his lips. “So this is the tool’s offspring.”

I’d never wanted to punch my uncle in the face more than in that moment.

“Much prettier than her father,” Mor clucked, yet a warm smile sat upon her face. She approached my mate and wrapped an arm around her, leading her farther into the kitchen. “Breakfast dear? We’ll chat over coffee. This might be the only time you and I will get to speak, seeing as though Milo has been keeping you all to himself.”

I rubbed my hands across my face, letting out an exasperated sigh. This was going to be a long morning.

Mum craned her head over the tiny crowd amassed around the dinette then said lowly, “Now that she’s out, we’ve got matters to discuss.”

I quirked an eyebrow at my mother. Isra was bundled in her arms, still sleeping, wrapped up in her yellow wool rug aunt Mor had knitted for her for Christmas last year. It was awful, crooked and misshapen but Isra adored it and insisted she slept with it every night. Dad sat to Mum’s right, his face somber and lined with exhaustion in the early morning’s sun rays. I hadn’t seen any of them in three days while I was holed up in the House of Wind, refusing to leave the sitting area just outside of Keorah’s room. I knew Dad had ordered Azriel and his shadows to keep tabs on me just by the way I saw wisps of darkness creeping around corners of the corridor or curling over the sofa I’d made my home. Nonetheless, he looked at me head to toe to make sure I was still in one piece. 

If he could see through the glamor, he’d know I wasn’t. During those days of agony and guilt, through the cloud of misery I’d settled myself into, I’d managed to slice my way down the entirety of my body, worse than I’d ever done before. 

It was the worst binge I’d ever indulged in. Usually those bouts of toxic thoughts lasted at most a half hour,  to make a few deep carvings here and there, but in the bathroom in the House of Wind I’d locked myself into I found myself there for hours on end burying the blade into my skin. Up my legs, thighs, stomach, upper biceps chest, cuts were strewn everywhere. The magic of my Illyrian tattoos kept the ink in place despite the carvings, yet still those ugly red lines stared back up at me when I looked at them in the mirror. In the moment, it felt so right. In the moment, there was nothing else but my skin, my canvas, and my brush, my dagger. 

I was still sore today. Beneath the loose clothing I wore, the cuts stung but I embraced the pain. A reminder for me to do better, be better, not to continuously fail those around me as I’d been doing my entire life.

“And what matters might those be?” I questioned and brought a coffee from the kitchen on the phantom wind, with three heaping spoonfuls of sugar and lots of milk. 

Aunt Amren sneered down at my drink with distaste. “You’re going to rot your teeth, boy.”

“I saw you with a coffee drink from Bean’s the other day, Amren, and just staring at it sent my heart pumping double time.” Cassian retorted. Amren only bared her teeth menacingly at my uncle who gave her a saccharine smile in return. Aunt Nesta elbowed Cassian in the stomach and grumbled something under her breath.

“Please, everyone, this is not a good time,” Dad’s voice was low and scratchy, and instantly the humour and light faded from the room. Silence ensued once more before he said, “I received this from the Spring Court this morning.”

A black carving appeared on the middle of the oak table. It was a rose made of the darkest stone, its petals gently curving and catching the light. It would’ve been stunning had I not knew the meaning behind it. 

A death threat. A promise of war. From the Spring Court.

“What is it?” Demanded Elain softly. Nesta too also appeared confused, yet didn’t show it. I always forgot that they were not born into the world of Fae, that they had been taken against their will and made into one of us. This lead them to be uneducated in court histories and politics, subjects that’d been shoved down my throat my entire life. 

“Tamlin has declared war on the Night Court.” Uncle Azriel's words were soft yet filled with disdain as he took in the rose carving. 

My stomach toppled over itself as I took in the full weight of Tamlin’s threat. He had full right to storm our lands for the way we’d taken Keorah from her home. We hadn’t thought it through, we’d set ourselves up for _disaster_ —

“Return the girl, then.” Nesta snapped, her eyes bright and glowing with contempt. 

“No,” replied mum, meeting her sister’s glare with equal power and authority. “It is not that simple, Nesta.”

“You have done your act of humanitarianism, Feyre,” Nesta replied, leaning forward and pressing both palms to the table to lean in closer to mum. “Now return the girl. I will not let you emerge us into another war. It’s too soon after Hybern.”

“You don’t call the shots.” Mum’s words were clipped, final. “If it’s war Tamlin wants, then it’s war he’ll get.”

“No.” Aunt Nesta’s look was one of pure despair. “ _Please_. Not now.”

Then, her hand reached up imperceptibly to brush her stomach. 

My eyes widened, as did everyone else’s as they took in the small gesture and exactly what it meant. 

Uncle Cassian’s hands curled around Nesta and he said drily, “Well, this isn’t quite how I imagined announcing the news to you guys.”

Everyone’s face, including my own, lit with a smile as Aunt Nesta and Uncle Cassian shared a look of pride and adoration. Aunt Nesta murmured, “I’m pregnant.”

Aunt Elain squealed. She was jumping, gripping her sister by the shoulders, and Mum was beaming, unable to stand with Isra still dozing peacefully in her arms despite the noise. Dad launched himself at Cassian, and they gripped each other in a firm embrace. Azriel clasped his Illyrian brothers’ shoulders and shared quiet words with them. Amren and I stood back from the rest of them. She clucked quietly, “By the cauldron. I’m not ready for a miniature Cassian bouncing off the walls.”

I chuckled quietly with her as they continued to share their festivities. But then my eyes fell once again on that obsidian rose and I fell silent. Tamlin wanted his daughter back. Would kill to get her back. For what? He’d been willing to kill her only days ago. He’d been torturing her all these years, and when she escapes with death at her tail, he declares war to get her back? What game was he playing?

Mum met my gaze and cleared her throat. “Nesta, I am truly over the moon with the great news, but we still need to discuss right now.”

Once again, the light drained from the room. Dad took up his spot once again beside mum and breathed a deep sigh, curling an arm around the back of her chair. Mor slipped in through the door, mumbling something about how we were too loud for such an ungodly hour, and Mum only inclined her head towards me. 

Ensuring that Keorah couldn’t hear, I placed a sound proof barrier of solid air around the room. I took a deep breath, and everyone leaned in as I parted my lips to say, “Tamlin has only given us a taunt. He has not made any move to storm north, which means we don’t need to get into the thick of it yet. But should he do so, then we are going to war.”

Silence, then Amren’s voice scoffing from beside me. “You’re not High Lord yet, Milo. You can’t make those calls.”

I only met her levelled gaze and said with equal menace and coolness that Dad yielded, “Yes we will, Amren, because Keorah is my mate.”

More silence. I met each of the Inner Circle’s gazes with hard, calculating eyes. Their expressions varied from surprise to pride to unbridled joy. “That girl has been through hell a hundred times fold, and I will burn this entire damned land to the ground before handing her back over to the vile male down in the Spring Court, as any of you would should your significant other be in the same position.”

Azriel was the first to clear his throat and question quietly, “With what army, Milo?”

I looked to Dad, who only nodded his head towards me. A test, then. He was testing what I would do should it truly be my call, if I held his title. I scoured my mind, then said, “I’ll go north to the Illyrians. I’ll call in old debts and I’ll rally the troops and give them a reason to fight. I know war was at our door no less than a century ago, but I believe that we can defeat the Spring Court. We are stronger than them. We have the one thing they don’t: purpose. A reason to fight for.” I swallowed, my heart pounding wildly in my chest. “We’re the court of dreams for a reason. And my dream is to live in a world where I can love my mate without any threat looming over my head. My dream is to show those monsters the darkness and evil they’ve shown us in hopes they'll never wield it again.” 

I looked to Mum and her eyes were lined with silver. Dad only gave a small smile of quiet pride. 

“I’ll fight with you,” Uncle Cassian murmured softly.

“We all will,” Azriel added with that low, rough voice of his.

Dad looked around the room. “It’s decided, then. Though I’d like to add that we call a meeting with the High Lords and Ladies. Without Tamlin.” Nods all around. “We need to see what they can do, who’s side they’ll take in the situation, and if Keorah could be exempted from the law due to circumstances.”

“I’ll draft it as soon as we’re finished up here,” Mum added.

“Alright,” I huffed, my mind wandering to the girl over in the other room. I pushed away from the table and said, “Now that we’ve got that dealt with, I need some sustenance.” 

There truly was nothing better than war threats and coffee at the crack of dawn.

* * * 

Keorah stared out the window, hands clutched around a cup of coffee. I stood there for a moment, taking the sight in, my mate within my house lounging like she belonged here. Elbows propped against the white moonstone countertop, she blew softly on the steam of her coffee before taking a tentative sip. She was so, _so_ beautiful, especially with the rising sun’s pale light shining through and illuminating those dancing green eyes of hers. 

I could see it now, sharing quiet moments with her in the garden, flying over the city at night, dancing until dawn broke at Rita’s. A future. One I could only pray to the mother she’d want to share with me. 

When she noticed I was leaning against the threshold of the kitchen, she nearly jumped. 

“Cauldron boil me,” she swore lowly, coffee spilling onto her leggings. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry about that, angel,” I chided, sliding into the stool beside her, wrapping my hands around my mug to spread some warmth into my fingers. Keorah quirked an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between my coffee and I. She gently sniffed and wrinkled her nose at the sweet, creamy scent.

“You’re going to rot your teeth.”

I rolled my eyes. I don’t know why I was afraid to show her my family when she’d fit right in with them. When I looked down at the liquid swirling in her porcelain mug, it was black. “And you’re going to make yourself insufferable with all that bitterness.”

There it was. The hint of a smile, just the corners of her mouth flicking upwards. 

Feeling accomplished, I waved my hand with a flourish and upon the table laid the usual spread of fruit, pastries, eggs and breakfast meats all prepared by Nuala and Cerridwen, as they did each morning. Two sets of silverware and plates sat before us and Keorah stared down at it, a hand pressed to her stomach. 

“Just try,” I murmured gently. I knew she knew I’d been watching her eating habits while we were in the Spring Court. It was no secret that Keorah was thin, and that she’d kill herself only slowly if she kept it up this way. 

“Don’t,” she snapped. I raised my hands in surrender then began piling on my usual eggs, bacon and a chocolatine, while she just stared and stared. After my fifth bite, I sighed. 

“Please,” I said again. 

This time, she took a deep breath and smoothed her shaking hands against her thighs. “Just don’t…” she shook her head. “Don’t watch me.”

“I won’t,” I whispered. “I promise.” Then I returned to my breakfast, pretending as though a wall had gone up between us and she wasn’t there. But I saw her hand reach out to scoop fruit onto her plate. 

She took a few promising bites. Before I knew it, her plate was bare, and she reached out for some eggs, only a spoonful. But soon enough those were gone too, and she was rubbing her stomach again gently, washing it down with a sip coffee. 

“I think that’s all I can handle.” She whispered, then her eyes turned to me, and they were dark, desperate, but some of the light I’d seen beforehand was back. 

“Hey,” I said, smoothing a hand down her arm, “you’re doing great.”

She did not shy away from my touch. Only let out a sigh, then said, “Don’t look at me like that.”

My brows furrowed, and I drew back slightly. “Like what?”

“Like I’m some… _stray_ ,” she said lowly, unable to meet my eyes. “A kicked puppy. I’m not some broken doll needing to be fixed.”

“Did I ever say you needed fixing?” My hand moved from her arm to her chin, tilting it up so her eyes met mine. They were guttered with embarrassment. “Did I ever say you were anything but strong, powerful, capable of anything?”

“You don’t need to say it,” she said drily. “I see it in the way you look at me. In the way everyone looks at me.”

I shook my head. “They do not sympathize you, Keorah. They do not pity you. _I_ do not _pity_ you.” I spat the word. “They are showing empathy. They see your pain and they know what that feels like. All they want to do is help you.” I rubbed the pad of my thumb against the curve of her chin slowly, my blood purring at the contact between the two of us. “And that’s all I want to do, angel. I just want to help you.”

She gave the tiniest nod then leaned forward and pressed her forehead to my chest, curling her hands around my shoulders. 

I held her slender, cold figure against me, and wrapped my arms as tightly as I could around her waist. She only breathed, deep breaths, and I carefully laid my chin upon the crown of her head. Her hair tickled the skin there, but I only embraced the vanilla and rose scent radiating from her. Then I thought of that night we shared only days ago under the willow tree and the velvet feel of her wrapped around me, her sumptuous breasts and the ways she’d screamed my name—

My blood began heating and I needed to calm myself down before things began…happening. Down there. 

Thank the Gods, Keorah pulled away and drawled, “Alright. What now? What’s been going on while I was…” she didn’t finish the sentence, and a frown settled itself upon her features. Wouldn’t or couldn’t, I couldn’t tell. 

I breathed a sigh. “Tamlin declared war.”

She stilled. Terror’s scent was tangy and utterly wrong as it began wafting off of her, and I wanted to unleash the boiling in my blood, my power growling at me to unhinge itself and wreak havoc upon that entire cursed Spring Court—

Her eyes began flooding, pooling with tears. 

“Angel—”

“I won’t let you and your court fight for me,” she breathed. I hated the pain that laced her voice, but most of all, I hated how lowly she thought of herself. “You’ve all done enough. If it comes down to a war, then I’ll go back.”

“Keorah.” I said it firmly. She wiped at the wetness on her cheeks with the back of her sleeve covered hand. “An obsidian rose means nothing. He has not threatened our lives, has made no deliberate move to harm my court or my family. Until then, we will prepare for war. In case.” I cleared my throat against the thickness building up there. “And until then, there will be a meeting of the High Lords and Ladies. To see if there are any alternative routes, and to know if there are others who will stand with us.” 

It was only then did the darkness alleviate from her eyes. “Why would you do this for me?”

A dangerous, loaded question. One with a simple answer, but I don’t think either of us were ready to face it yet.

So I tried to spin my answer.

“Would you do it for me?”

Silence as she contemplated the idea. But then, a word whispered so low I barely heard it. 

“Yes.”

* * * 

Keorah

“Yes.”

That was my answer. 

For my friend, who’d stayed by my side these few days no matter what, but who also knew when to give me space. The boy who’d sworn to protect me. The boy I’d promised would always find a friend in me. 

I knew that if the positions were reversed, I’d do it for him. There was such light and passion within him, things I had not seen in the males who’d surrounded me my entire life, and I wanted to safeguard that flame. To keep it burning. Because him and I, within and between our courts, we could create change. For the better. A better world. 

His hands rubbed soothingly up and down my arms. The silence was thick as it surrounded our two frames only to be broken by the bursting of the kitchen door. 

Footsteps came thundering through the kitchen, which was far bigger than anything I’d seen back home. A testament, I presumed, to the depth of which ran the Night Court coffers thanks to their thriving economy. Whereas the Spring Court’s was…less than par. Had been for a few centuries, now. Yet no work was done to improve its conditions. Another fault of my father’s and his predecessors. 

Those footsteps were accompanied by a child racing toward us. She was no more than a few years old, and her golden brown hair caught the sunlight as she bounced with each step. She stopped just before us, hands falling to her sides, grey eyes wide and questioning. 

“You’re the girl who was hurt,” was all she said. Her voice was high-pitched and silvery. I almost laughed at her bluntness, and wished I could carry the same innocence with which she saw matters. 

“Yes,” I offered quietly. “And you must be Isra. Milo’s sister, right?”

“Yup!” She sidestepped me then bound into Milo’s arms who caught her swiftly, hugging her tiny frame tightly to his chest. 

“Zaza!” He exclaimed. A certain warmth had filled the once icy air as others began flooding into the kitchen from where they’d been gathered in the dinette. Mor I knew, if only because of her tell-tale golden hair and the fact that she filled the awkward silence between us while trying to make me as comfortable as possible in the kitchen on my own. Feyre and Rhysand, of course, were familiar faces, and they truly did seem at home when Rhysand wrapped an arm around his mate and they leaned back against the kitchen sink. The rest, though, were all unfamiliar, and my gaze skirted across each of them questioningly. 

From beside me, Milo hefted Isra into a more comfortable, seated position in his arms before turning to the crowd of people. Two males and three females, all dressed in various forms of finery or fighting leathers. 

“Cassian and Azriel, commander and spymaster,” he pointed to the two broad shouldered males. Cassian, with the longer, shoulder length hair offered me a dazzling smirk, and Azriel seemed as though the shadows around him were curling into his very being. 

“Amren, my father’s second in command.” A short, black haired female who only looked me up and down with those silver eyes of hers. I knew of Amren and gave a semi-bow. Her mouth curled at the corners as though she was impressed. That name had been written in story books all over Prythian, even before she’d saved us in the Hybern wars two years ago. No, before that she was known as the beast who’d rip children’s toes off and feed them to them if they didn’t finish their vegetables. Not showing respect to somebody of statute would result in ugliness. And I didn’t want to get on her bad side. 

“Mor, you met,” though she offered me a smile and a wave anyways, “then my mother’s sisters, Elain and Nesta.”

I blinked. Elain. I’d met her before, long, long ago…

“My blessed-mother,” I blurted as I took in the female before me. She was a near spitting image of Feyre, yet softer somehow, the features lining her face smoother. Lucien had spoken about her so dearly whenever he could stomach it. And the female who stood before me now was a replica of the picture I’d painted my mind. 

She blinked with surprise. “Oh Gods. Yes, I forgot about that.”

She offered me a smile anyway which I only returned with an incline of my head. Blessed-mother or no, the title didn’t hold any true significance, lest a child’s parents should die before they reach maturity. Not when you aren’t present in the child’s life, anyways. 

The silence surrounded us once more until that silvery voice sounded from beside me. “Where are you from?”

I turned to face Milo’s little sister. Milo only glanced between the two of us, his eyes filled with light and wonder. Now that we were at the same height, I could see the resemblance between Milo and Isra, how they both shared the same nose and eye shape, the same high cheek bones gifted from their parents, and Rhysand’s darker Illyrian colouring. A mosaic of the rich family history they both held: a once human woman Made, an Illyrian High Lord of Night.

“The Spring Court,” I offered quietly, softly, yet there was a certain shadow that passed over her delicate face.

“Are you going to hurt us?”

The entire room stilled. My mouth parted at the true fear I scented on her, but I balked at the thought that anybody could ever hurt this child, or this tightly-knit family unit that surrounded me—

A family tainted by a dark, dark past with the Spring Court. A past I now had to shoulder.

“Never,” I assured her, and that fear dissipated, but there still was a certain wariness lining her eyes. 

I lifted my pinky. Isra’s head cocked to the side in question. I paid no heed to the others around us, no heed to the intensity and wonder Milo’s features. Only my raised pinkie and exactly what it meant to me. 

_“I will always be with you, Keorah,” Mama’s face was rich with a smile and illuminated by the dying sun’s beam of light falling upon our sacred meadow. We sat cross-legged across each other, exhausted from a full day’s worth of training. Even my younger self, only eight years old at the time, wanted to collapse with exhaustion despite my usually ceaseless levels of energy._

_“Do you promise?” I quirked an eyebrow at her, a gesture I’d only learned recently after practicing for hours in the mirror. My first few failed attempts had sent Mama into fits of laughter._

_Her white hair blew softly over her face with a passing rose-scented wind. “I promise, Keke, that I will be with you, stay with you, no matter what, to whatever end.” Then, she held one pinkie up. Again, I quirked that eyebrow, and she only threw me a pointed look._

_“Raise your pinkie.”_

_I did. Then she reached out to curl her finger around mine until they were wrapped around each other. I stared at our intertwined digits, then gave her a questioning gaze._

_“It means you accept the promise,” she said softly, “that you will keep it no matter what.”_

_With those words I only squeezed harder and she laughed, then pulled me into her arms._

I blinked, the memory fading away as quickly as it came. “Raise your pinkie.”

She did so, and I said, “I promise that I will never intentionally hurt you or your family.”

Then I reached over to twine our fingers together. She giggled at the sight of our hooked fingers. “What does it mean?”

“It means that you accept the promise,” I’d never forgotten the words. The memory that now, after everything that’d happened, was like a knife to my heart over and over. “that you’ll keep it, no matter what.”

Except Mama had not kept her promise. Mama had left me. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting for a while! As you know the holidays are a stressful time for some, and I'm unfortunately a part of that 'some'. But now I'm ready to settle in, hibernate and write for everything I'm worth for the next weeks or so.   
> Hope you're all still enjoying this fic! Please, if you have any suggestions or constructive criticism, let me know!  
> Also, here is the link to my pinterest, I have a few boards on there about the fic I think you'd all appreciate!  
> https://www.pinterest.ca/feeney1304/  
> Happy holidays, and as always, I hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	12. Hands and Drawings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milo shows Keorah around the Night Court.  
> Trigger warning: mention of abuse

Milo

After my family dispersed and began preparations in response to Tamlin’s lovely paper weight of a threat, this left Isra, my parents, Keorah and I in the kitchen taking turns staring at each other. I had no idea what to do with the band of us. 

“Have you shown Keorah Velaris yet?” Dad wondered from beside mum. They were cleaning the leftover dishes side by side. Keorah nearly outright gawked at them, at the sight of our family unit living just an ordinary day in our lives. Isra helped dry and put them away. My mate and I sat at the stools behind the island watching them. 

“We’re going tonight,” I said, wrapping my fingers around my mug before taking a sip, “I thought it’d be best to show her the City of Starlight in its prime.”

“Mm,” Mum mused. “Make sure to stop by the Rainbow.”

Keorah quirked an eyebrow at me. “The Rainbow?”

It still baffled me to see her here in my kitchen, interacting with my family as though we weren’t sworn enemies only a week ago. Isra said excitedly, eyes wide as she clutched a pan with her tiny fingers, “It’s the artists’ quarters. There’re painters and sculptors, actors and musicians…”

“Musicians?” There was a glint to her eyes. I remembered when she sang to me softly, those beautiful words and melodies that’d wrapped around my heart and enchanted my very soul. Yes, an angel indeed, voice and all. 

“Do you play?” Mum turned, wiping her hands on her apron. Keorah’s face flushed and she nodded slightly. 

“She’s incredible,” I jumped in, gripping her shoulder. She shot me a glare. I only looked to mum and said, “She plays the harp. And she sings.”

“Ooh, sing a song! Sing a song!” Isra cried, jumping up and down. 

“Now, now, Stardust, we don’t want to force her,” Dad closed the tap and quickly scooped my little sister into his arms.

“I’m really not that good—” Keorah tried to interject, but I shot her a pointed look. 

“Nonsense. We should visit a show, if we have time.” 

Her voice was quiet when she said, “I think I’d like that.”

Dishes now clean, we all stared at each other once more. Mum and dad shared a look, and I knew they were having a silent between that shared bond of theirs. 

Then Mum turned to me. “Why don’t you show Keorah around the house?”

I looked to Keorah who only shrugged. “Not like I have anything better to do.”

“I wanna come!” Isra bound out of Dad’s arms and began skipping to the door leading out into the great hall. 

Keorah only slid out of the chair and followed her. But not before turning and facing my parents. 

“I never got to thank you, Feyre and Rhysand,” she said, eyes lingering on her feet. “For everything you’ve done for me this past week. For welcoming me into your home. I’m indebted to all of you.” She looked to me as well, then met my parents eyes and inclined her head. 

“Keorah, there is no debt. We’re just relieved that you’re safe.” Mum’s gaze was filled with passion and admiration, and my heart softened at the sight. 

“And please, dear, call me Rhys. No need for formalities.” Dad flashed her a smile.

She nodded once then continued on after Isra.

Once she was out of hearing distance, I looked to my parents, who smiled warmly in my direction. 

“She’s wonderful,” Dad murmured, and I knew he was talking about my mate. I only smiled before jogging to catch up with the girls.

* * *

Keorah

The estate was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. 

It was equally regal as it was homey and comfortable, something I never felt at the manor back home. The great hall, with its navy walls and crystal chandelier, was a masterpiece in itself. This led to the living room where a mighty fired roared without any sign of upkeep, as though it were magicked to continue burning autonomously. Then the staircase brought us to a labyrinth of rooms ranging from studies to bedrooms to Feyre’s art studio, reeking of acrylics and splattered with speckles of rogue paint. Isra approached each new room with renewed enthusiasm and stories behind each of them. I particularly liked the one about hers, saying that the miniature dining set in the corner of her bedroom was where her and Milo had tea parties together. Milo rolled his eyes playfully at his little sister’s shrieks of laughter, and I pursed my lips to hold my chuckle back, imagining him trying to fit himself onto the tiny, tiny purple stool. 

For a moment, Isra had a faraway look in her eyes. Then, her face lit up with a grin, and she was racing for the stairs. “Mum says uncle Az is waiting for me for flying lessons!” Her footsteps continued to echo as she thundered down the stairs where her mother was waiting, and the two of them winnowed away in a cloud of smoke and moonlight. 

That left Milo and I at the top of the bannister. I turned to capture his gaze. We stared at each other for a few moments, and his eyes were bright, twinkling like stars. With a careful smile, he asked, “Would you like to see my room?”

“It’s only fair, since I was such a good _hostess_ during your stay,” I said, pushing off the railing. He snickered at the taunt and reached out, offering his hand palm facing up. Our tattoo was there, shining bright and beautifully in the light of day, the careful swirls and whorls so enticing against his rich, dark terra-cotta skin. Carefully, I laced my hand within his. 

He looked down at our twined fingers and said, “I can remove it. If you don’t like it.”

It took me a moment to realize what it meant. Then I instantly peeled off the glamor hiding my tattoo, face flushed red. “Sorry. Sometimes I forget.” Sometimes I forgot that I didn’t need to watch my every breath, every word, every movement. Sometimes I forgot that I got out of the Spring Court, that Papa wasn’t looking over my shoulder at any given moment.

“It’s okay, angel,” he murmured gently. Then, he cocked his head ever so slightly to the side. “What else are you hiding under there?”

Dangerous, dangerous territory. My heart raced in my chest, and I calmed its beating with a steady breath. Not yet. I don’t think either of us were ready to face what was hidden beneath. “Alright, you caught me. My true form is a bird.”

“What?” He spluttered, then I used Papa’s gift and made my skin shift to bright orange plumes all over my body and gave myself an abnormally large, thick beak. He gawked at the sight of me, and I only batted my eyelashes in this form. 

Then, with half a thought, I was back to my original form. 

Milo held a hand to his chest, bewildered. “Cauldron boil me.”

I let out a chuckle at the sight of the pure awe and laughter upon his face. “I’m truly offended, Milo. I thought we were friends, no matter my form or shape.”

“Of course, angel, just definitely not that one. Bloody hell, that’ll likely haunt my nightmares.”

“Nice to know you’re dreaming of me.” I batted my eyelashes once more and he elbowed me gently.

* * *

Milo’s room was a clear reflection of himself.

The walls were the deepest, richest shade of indigo I’d ever seen. In one corner was a roaring fireplace, magicked, it seemed, like every other one in the house, to burn without being maintained. The floors were the darkest shade of oak wood and the accents lining the room were silver and gold, found in the candelabras, sitting chairs, throw pillows and great billowing duvet that covered his massive four poster bed. Thick swaths of silver material were draped over the structure to give an ethereal look to it, making it all the more enticing. 

But what really drew my attention was the art adorning the walls. Charcoal drawings. They seemed so achingly familiar, but I couldn’t place them to save my life. 

There sitting at the wooden desk was a stack of thick stationary and a set of charcoals and a half finished piece staring back at me. They were two onyx hands reaching out, drawn in such a way that ancient darkness seemed to ripple from them. There was such cruelty and brutality in the piece and it sent a chill down my spine as I smoothed the tips of my fingertips over the untouched corner of the stationary. I swallowed hard, then turned to see Milo was looking down at his feet, embarrassed. 

“You drew all of these?” I looked around to see Isra’s face, two unknown twined hands, three mountains and a crown of stars atop of them, but also darker ones like a figure trying to claw its way out of its skin, another one falling to its knees and seeming as though it were tearing apart at the seems. Those ones captivated me in a way I couldn’t explain. 

“They’re breathtaking,” I said, looking to Milo who finally lifted his eyes to me. “When did you learn? How did you learn?”

He scratched the back of his head. “Mum taught me to love art. I taught myself to make my own.” He shrugged. “It came naturally. Who taught you to sing?”

It was my turn to shrug. “I don’t know. One day I was by myself and I just…did it. Mama’s introduction to music helped, though.” I shook my head, unwilling to let the thoughts of her and I practicing in her closet flood my mind. “My offer still stands, you know.”

Milo quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms and approaching me with lazy, slow strides. He moved with such ease and grace it was like the world bent to him. The smirk that lined his lips made my stomach coil. “And what offer may that be, angel?”

“To draw me,” I said, then poked him in the chest. “Again, nude would be best.”

His eyes danced as and his voice dropped to a husky, low pitch when he said, “I’m out of practice. But I swear, Keorah, that I will spend an entire damned week sketching out every curve of you.”

My toes curled in my boots and he inclined his head toward the door. This thing, this thread between us was a wicked, strange thing. The lines between us were…blurred. And we still hadn’t talked about that night together a few days ago. I had no idea how to even broach the subject, how to apologize for using his body in my own recklessness and despair. But most of all, I had no idea what it was between us. If it was indeed solely friendship, with those few benefits to enjoy here and there like the teasing, the flirting, or if it was…more. 

I brushed the thought away and grasped his hand once again as he led me back down the stairs. 

The house remained empty and quiet. Rhys must’ve left at some point to attend to business likely relating to Papa’s obsidian rose, an ancient method we used for war threats. I couldn’t recall the last time a High Lord had sent one from our court. It must’ve of been centuries, if not millennia ago, whenever Prythian’s last civil war was. 

This left Milo and I alone amongst the immensity of his house. We stood in the great hall, looking at each other. 

“Well,” I said, my voice the only sound in the house besides the crackling of the hearth, “What would you like to do?”

He contemplated it for a moment. “Care for a stroll?”

I stared down at my thin leggings and sweater, which was thick and warm, but wouldn’t shield me from the biting cold outside. “I’m not really dressed—”

“No worries, angel,” he lifted his hands and instantly there were bundles of warm, winter clothes before me. “We’re plenty stocked.”

* * *

The turquoise waters of the sea, the Sidra he’d called it, were enchanting and crystalline in the sun’s beaming rays. As we passed manor after manor along the river, structures so huge they could easily be considered palaces, Milo and I said nothing, online drank in the sunshine and breathed in the cold, fresh air. The sidewalk was soaked with the water dripping from the slowly melting snow, a promise of Spring’s breeze whistling through the air and fanning stray hairs across my face. 

The Night Court was stunning. Old, victorian styled townhouses lined the streets with fae roaming around merrily. Children’s laughter broke the air and they chased each other across the town squares. Nothing like the evil, malicious throne room I’d been described before, the conniving Hewn City’s whose darkness tainted the court’s name. Every now and then people would incline their heads to Milo who offered them a warm smile of acknowledgment. 

We stopped at a crossing bridge overlooking the crashing waves of the sea. I propped my elbows against the railing and closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath of that fresh ocean breeze. I could get used to this, I realized. 

But my heart called to the lilac scented winds of the south. To my home. To the meadows of evergreen and baby’s breath, to the towns filled with yes, poverty, but a glimmer of hope. The hope I’d seen in that little blonde-haired boy’s eyes when I gave him the satchel of gold. 

“This place is not like what I’ve been told,” I said quietly, breaking the silence between us. “People in Spring call it the Court of Nightmares.”

Milo looked out to the vast expanse of blue before us and puffed out a breath that dissipated into a cloud of vapour. “Long ago, it used to be solely like what you’ve heard, a Court of Nightmares indeed. But there was one High Lord who thought that this territory could be better. That his people deserved better. So he created Velaris, the City of Starlight.

“To keep it safe, he kept it a secret so it wouldn’t be tarnished by the denizens of the Hewn city. You couldn’t find it on any map inside or outside of the Night Court territory. It remained secret for over a millennia, even through Amarantha’s reign.” Milo swallowed hard, his eyes lowering with a twinge of sadness. “My father ensured it.”

Amarantha’s whore. People continued to mutter it to this day.

Milo cleared his throat. “But when the mortal queens needed to be convinced about my parents’ good intentions when it came to human protection and trust during the Hybern wars, they showed them Velaris as a peace offering. Days later Hybern attacked and decimated the city.”

I couldn’t imagine it. A place of such wonder and beauty wrecked…the results would be awful. 

“It was the first time an unwanted outsider had set foot in the land since Velaris’s creation. Then later on, when we needed the other courts’ trust, we told them of our sanctuary. Our haven. The Court of Dreams.”

A few moments of quiet settled over us, filled only by the sound of crashing waves and the bustling of the town square behind us. Milo’s forearm brushed against mine where it was propped on the stone railing, and I wanted to lean into his warmth. 

“You truly love your court,” I offered quietly. 

He nodded. “As much as you love yours.”

I looked to him now. The sun against his face truly highlighted his high cheekbones and brought out the navy blended into his jet black hair. His violet eyes seemed more beautiful, if it were even possible.

“Do you want to be High Lord?”

His eyebrow quirked and he shot me a playful grin. “So many questions today, angel.”

I shrugged. “You interrogated me in my court. It’s your turn.”

He snorted, then heaved a sigh, lines of exhaustion settling into the lines of his features. “Yes and no. I love this city, and I love my court, but it’s…exhausting. Politics and internal affairs aren’t quite how I want to spend the rest of eternity.” He cocked his head to the side. “And you? Do you want to be High Lady?”

A complicated question. I pursed my lips. “It’s not as simple for me as it is for you, I’m afraid.” I picked at the skin beside my nails. “I want to change my court. I want to breathe life back into it. But I know that if I’m going to marry Carrick, if he’s going to be High Lord… I’ll never be able to accomplish those things.”

Milo frowned, a look I couldn’t decipher overcoming his face. “Hate to break it to you, angel, but I don’t think you’re going to be marrying Carrick anytime soon.”

I laughed at that, glancing down at the spot where that awful, ugly engagement ring sat only a week ago. No, I supposed after our scene in the Spring Court, Carrick wouldn’t be very inclined to marry me anymore. Not after I’d been ‘sullied by an Illyrian Half-breed.’

But then that laugh turned into a frown as I realized now that I wasn’t to be married, that I’d fled the Spring Court, would I still be considered High Lady? Would I still be heiress to the position?

I shook away the thoughts. They could wait. 

My mind wandered until I thought back to the drawings in Milo’s room. They’d enchanted me, encapsulated me so whole I could probably stare at their beauty and complexity for hours. The pain and joy that they radiated truly touched me. But those awful hands he drew, the work in progress sitting on his sketching table, those stuck in my mind with their cruelty and brutality that shook me to my very core. 

“Those hands,” I said by way of bringing the subject, gazing down at his slender, calloused fingers. “Whose are they?”

Something hard and cold swiftly shifted his features into a face of stone. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

There was one thing, one piece of information I knew about Milo before I’d met him. The news had spread to the entirety of Prythian that the heir to the Night Court had been stolen in the middle of the night. Found eventually, off the coast of his territory, but news all the same that the mighty north could in fact be cleaved. 

“You make me talk about my problems,” I edged, narrowing my eyes at him, “even when all I want to do is bite your head off.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He pushed off the railing and stormed off. I rolled my eyes and trailed after him, even at his brisk pace marching through the streets. 

“So will it be like this, then? I bear all to you and you give me nothing?” I didn’t care that there were passersby giving us weary looks. Milo refused to look at me, just kept his brisk stride and solemn, stony face. 

I stopped him, eyes wide, heart beating hard. There was a fire and fierceness in his eyes I’d never seen before. No matter the beauty that surrounded us, no matter the fact we were in public, I wasn’t afraid of being frank with him. 

“You’re a real prick,” I snarled, poking him hard in the chest. “A stubborn, hard-headed prick.”

Then I pivoted on my heel and made my way back to the manor, not caring that he wasn’t following me. If he was going to be that way, fine. 

How could he expect me to be his friend, to share my deepest burdens with him if he didn’t reciprocate the actions? Did he really think that sharing was one sided? 

I shook my head, fists clenched with rage as I stormed back to the estate.

* * *

When I returned to the house, it was empty. I didn’t know where to go or who to talk to, so instead I ventured up into the library where Milo had shown me only an hour before. It was immense, with bookshelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. There were ladders every few intervals to be able to reach the novels at the top and places to lounge everywhere under the soft light from the faelight lanterns. It was quiet as I stepped through the space, brushing my fingers along the creased leather spines of the tomes. Once I finally settled upon one I nestled up on a sofa with a thick, fleece blanket and began reading. 

She must’ve found me hours later, for it was dark outside and I heard faint laughter from downstairs. I jumped when I felt a weight settle down beside me, unaware that anybody had entered the room because I was so absorbed in the characters, words and faraway places. Sometimes I wished I could just dive into those stories and escape my surroundings. 

Feyre was dressed in trousers and a soft, navy blouse when she settled herself at my feet. I set my book down at my feet and stood a little straighter. We both held each other’s gazes and said nothing for a few moments until her lips parted. 

“I brought dinner,” she said, and with a blink there was a full platter of food sitting on a side table near my end of the couch. I blinked down at the spiced mutton stew and roasted winter root vegetables and my stomach grumbled. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and even then it was only a few pathetic bites. 

“I know it’s weird to get adjusted to our court dynamics, and I thought you might not want to dive all the way in on the first day.” She grinned. “Family dinners can be quite the event here.”

I gave her a small smile and looked to the food once more. She floated the tray towards me on a phantom wind and it landed gently on my lap. I stared down at it, pursing my lips, unsure if I could eat. Unsure if it was my stomach that resisted, or my mind. 

“It gets better,” was all she said, her eyes cast downwards as if she was remembering something awful. “At first I thought it never would, but it does.”

I couldn’t meet her gaze when it lifted to me. I only stared down at my hands, feeling a phantom pain of claws slicing down my back. 

“You can stay here tonight. Nobody really likes the House of Wind.” Feyre pushed off the couch and stood, heading toward the door. “Take the guest room.”

“Which one?” I asked. The first words I said to her throughout our entire conversation. 

Feyre only laughed then said, “Sorry. I meant the room at the end of the hall on the second floor, east corridor.” 

Which left me alone, staring down at my food. 

I swirled the contents of the stew in its bowl and took a tentative bite. It was savoury, spiced in a way I’d never tasted before across all courts, and it warmed something within me. Paired with a base of rice and the root vegetables, it was a hardy meal indeed. I was done after another few forkfuls. Better than before, but still not good enough. 

My eyelids drooped as they ran across the words, and I knew it was time to call it a night. Once I put everything back in order and left the library, I could still hear hushed conversation downstairs. I wanted to join them, to sit back and drink wine and absorb Milo’s family’s dynamics, but after today’s argument, I wasn’t quite sure where he and I stood. 

Remembering Feyre’s directions, I made my way from the library down to my room for the night, trying to decipher the layout of the estate but it was like trying to track your path in a maze. What met me was a room of bold, rich colours of gold, maroon and burnt orange, nothing like the soft pastels from back home. Everything screamed life and royalty and wealth, from the ornate rug to the bed big enough for six covered in a thick, maroon duvet. A chaise long and side table sat by the window overlooking the courtyard, and a door led to the small ensuite equipped with a small tub, toilet and sink. 

I looked down at myself and decided that my clothes were comfortable enough to sleep in. I only splashed water over my face then reached out my power to dim the faelights before settling between the sheets and letting sleep claim me. 

* * *

There was an eerie silence in the manor. I just got back from an afternoon gallop with Bron and Hart, who both reported to Papa in his study. Mama said she’d be in the Great Hall, but she was nowhere to be found. Around the halls, servants passed by blankly, holding stacks of folded towels or food for tonight’s meal. I reached out to one of them but they paid me no heed, only stared straight ahead. 

“Mama?” I called, feet taking me to her bedroom. Papa didn’t like it when I went into their bedroom, but I didn’t care. Mama usually always met me in the Great Hall after a ride. It was unusual for her to be away. No answer came to my call. Now I was really sprinting, past the brain-dead servants, past Papa’s study, past room after room until I came to the oak double French doors. I pried them open. 

Before me stood only a perfectly made bed, one I’d been nestled into as a child when I had a nightmare, or on mornings when Mama and Papa had no meetings and we could just have breakfast the three of us in bed as a family. Far-away times I dreamed of. 

“Mama?” Still no answer. She could’ve been anywhere, outside, the library, my room for all I knew, but something had tugged me here. I ran to her closet, slamming the door open nearly off its hinges, but found no one inside. I knew I was overreacting, I knew that there must’ve been a simple answer, but something within me roared that something was abhorrently wrong—

I moved on to her and Papa’s bathroom, pulling fiercely on the door, but it wouldn’t budge. 

“MAMA!” I screamed. She had to be in there. Why wasn’t she answering? Why wasn’t she answering?

Without thinking, I held both hands up and sent golden light slamming into the door. It crumpled beneath my power, turning to ash and dust on the spot, and when I ran inside, the sight that met me shattered me so wholly that I knew there was no coming back. 

Her body laid floating and pale, so, so pale despite her dark colouring. Crystalline blue eyes once ripe with hope and life were dull, lifeless. Except the water wasn’t clear as it had been, it was black, thick and murky, and it stained her platinum blonde hair—

Her lips were stained with purple from the night berries’ juices, but they moved with the words, “Come, Keorah. It’s time.”

“Mama!” I screamed, an awful sound tearing from my throat. Then I was being pushed, and my head whipped behind me to see Papa, and awful snarl on his face. 

“It should have been you,” he seethed, shoving me against the tub. I fought back with all my might but he was too strong, too powerful. The substance filling the tub smelled like death warmed over and I gagged at the scent. Mama’s arms extended out to me, a smile on her face as she stroked my cheek, staining me with that black sludge—

“Come, Keke,” she purred, then I was being pulled, dragged into the inky darkness—

It surrounded me from all over, coating my limbs, my eyes, the inside of my nostrils, my ears, it was tearing at my flesh and threatening to consume me whole. I held my breath, trying to fight, trying to claw my way out of the tub and find a way out, but before I knew it I was gasping and choking down the sludge. It entered my lungs and swallowed me whole. 

All I could do was scream. Scream as liquid death claimed me, as my parents’ evil laughter sounded from above me—

* * *

I was screaming. 

I didn’t know when it started, when the dream stopped being a dream and became reality, but all I could feel was that tingling against my skin as the sludge ate away at my very being. My nails dug into my flesh as I clawed at myself, trying to wash it away, trying to brush it off in any way I could—

The door burst open to my room and only then did I remember that I was in the Night Court, that I was at Milo’s manor, that I had just had a dream. A bad dream. 

Milo was at my side in an instant, clutching my hands, trying to stop my ministrations. When I looked down, I realized that I’d been truly clawing at myself, that where normal fingernails once stood there were now talons laced with blood. It covered my arms. I gagged at the sight, thinking of Papa’s claws and their slicing. 

“Keorah.” Milo’s stern voice filled me up. But there was still a storm wreaking havoc across my mind, building in my being and threatening to swallow me whole—

I ripped my hands away from Milo’s grip and bolted from the bed, sprinting as fast as I could toward the washroom as the contents of my dinner emptied themselves out into the toilet. The porcelain was cool and calming against my burning skin. Yet I could still feel those talons where normal skin and fingernails should have been, talons I’d never dared summon. 

Then my hair was being pulled back and a soothing, calming touch drifted up and down the length of my spine as I heaved over and over, remnants of the few bites of stew I’d pathetically tried to stomach only hours ago. Once that fire within me cooled, once my being could finally relax and I was sagging against the porcelain, the talons slowly sunk back into my skin. I shuddered at the awful sight, then reached up to flush the toilet.

“Let me heal you.” Milo offered quietly from where he kneeled behind me. I still hadn’t looked at him, wasn’t sure if I could.

Blood was coating my arms. Not a lot, but enough to shock. The scratches weren’t deep, only surface level, but without proper treatment they’d be a nuisance. I could heal them the half-assed sloppy way I’d done all these years and add these scars to the collection beneath my glamour, or I could let Milo do it. 

I don’t think I could stomach another mark on this body to bear. Hidden or not, they were becoming too heavy of a burden my weak knees couldn’t support. 

Slowly, I shifted until we were face to face. His torso was bare and he was clad in only loose pants, probably the only thing he had time to throw on after he heard my screams. I wondered how loud I’d been, if I woke Isra or the rest of his family. My chest expanded and contracted with each heave of my shaky breaths. 

“Sorry,” I choked out between pants. 

He only shook his head, reaching over to the cupboard to pull out a cloth. He wet it beneath the bathtub’s nozzle then gently began wiping away at the blood. I could only stare down at the floor, at the tangle of limbs between us.

“Nightmare?” The word was rough and gravelly with sleep. My eyelids began to droop again with the comforting presence of his hands rubbing up and down, up and down my arms. 

I nodded, then leaned my head against the porcelain of the tub, closing my eyes. 

“I get them too,” he offered quietly. He paused his ministrations for a moment, then continued. “About those hands you saw.”

At that, I cracked one eye open, only to see him staring down at his own hands. Most of the blood was gone, and now he was using his healing abilities to mend the scratches. I could feel the tingling in my arms as flesh knit itself together. 

“They took me as I winnowing from the townhouse to here. I didn't know what was happening, but they knocked me out with this smoke. When I woke up I was in an ash box.”

I winced at the thought. I hadn't felt ash yet, but Lucien had described the sensation to me. Like your very being was screaming at every point of contact between the wood and yourself. To be trapped in a box, to be encased by the dreaded wood... I couldn't imagine the pain. 

“At some point they opened the lid because I kept screaming and they sent those hands in. To this day, I don't know what they were. Creatures made of darkness and shadows. They reached in and placed a metal mask over my face. Just the feeling if their presence was... abhorrent. Like nothing of their kind should exist on this earth. We still don’t know who was behind it, or what those things were.”

No beasts or creatures I'd encountered or read about matched his description. But chills ran down my spine at the panic he must've felt, how suffocating it must've been for him. I now knew how difficult it would be to revisit those memories. And how utterly horrible I was for yelling at him like a child for guilting him into it. 

“I'm sorry,” I murmured. He said nothing, only set my arm down gently before moving to the next one. 

“I don't need your pity.”

My eyes flicked to his. “I meant I'm sorry for what I told you earlier. I had no right to say what I said.”

He chuckled a little. “You scared half the townspeople to death.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Angel, there were flames at your heels when you stormed off. Any kindling nearby and it would've been ablaze.”

My jaw dropped. I hadn't even felt it, hadn't realized I was even using my power—

“It just means you need to train tomorrow. Let some steam off. When you don't release some of it, it bottles up. Starts driving you mad. Don't you feel it?”

He'd finished with my arms. Above the glamor only soft, smooth skin remained as if nothing had happened. Yet still his fingers brushed gently against mine, a comforting, soothing gesture. I nearly purred. 

I shook my head. “I…don’t know. Do you?”

“Sometimes, when it's really quiet, I can feel it in my ears. Whistling, almost like a kettle. And my skin gets itchy and achy.”

I settled my head against the tub once more. “I get a lot of noise in my head. Almost static. But sometimes that's just my thoughts, so I can't differentiate between the two. Then I have outbursts like you saw this afternoon, little things I can't control.”

“Nobody ever taught you to release it properly? To drain it?”

I shrugged. “Lucien and Mama tried, but they didn't have the same arsenal I have. They told me I needed to exercise it regularly but I haven’t really had the motivation to do it in a while.”

“Well, guess what we’re doing tomorrow?” He grinned with a wink. I gave him a small smile. 

Silence ensued once more, and we just sat there on the cold tile floor, hands touching, fingers brushing softly against one another in the dim faelight. It reminded me of the late nights when Mama and I would stay awake and try to tend to each other’s wounds as best as we could without using our magic. He always hated when we used our magic. I wondered if Papa asked himself where our scars were. I wondered if he took satisfaction knowing we needed to hide ourselves and our skin and play his sick little game. But most of all, I wondered, what drove him to do all of it? What would drive anyone to do such horrific things to the people they were supposed to love the most? 

“Why are you crying?” Milo murmured. 

The sound of his voice jarred me from my thoughts. I hadn’t even realized that tears had been falling silently down my face. I wiped my cheek against the sleeve of my sweater, unable to meet Milo’s piercing gaze. 

My voice was rough when I said, “Could you ever hurt your children?”

A dark, broken look overtook his features. He sighed then drew closer to me, breaking the points of contact between our fingers to pull me into him. He leaned back against the tub, legs extended before him, and I collapsed against him into sobs. 

I don’t know what it was about seeing those talons tonight. Just a sick reminder that if Papa did it, maybe one day it would be me. Maybe it would be me staring at my offspring and just…not caring. Taking out my frustrations on whoever was nearest. 

“What if I’m just like him?” I pulled back to raise my hands where those long, sharp claws had been. 

“You’re nothing like him,” Milo said with calmness, assuredness. He reached out to grab my hands and enclose them in his own, then reach them to his lips and pressed a kiss to my fingers. “You are _nothing_ like him, Keorah.”

I sobbed once more, feeling that weight finally hit me full force. The ache in my chest spread throughout my body and I clutched Milo, sobbing against him, and he only held me steadily. 

“Just let it out,” he murmured. “Cry it out. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” 

Mama used to hold me when I cried. She would smooth down my hair and tell me to be strong. She would grasp my shoulders and say that things would get better, that Papa loved us deep down, and he would change. We would weave tales of a life where Papa was normal, where we were a family and we were happy. Something we hadn’t tasted in so long. 

I didn’t know when the sobs ended, only that they turned into shaky, uneven breaths until my eyes were drooping once more. Milo just held me, gently rubbing a hand up and down my back or through my hair. All I knew was that I woke up in my bed the next morning, tucked into the sheets as though the entire thing hadn’t even happened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (tumblr illyrianwingspans)


	13. Pancakes and Powers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Practicing powers and receiving disturbing news.  
> Trigger warning: graphic violence, mention of self-harm.

Milo

Thankfully, my family found elsewhere to be this morning. Well, most of it anyway.

“Pancakes!” Aunt Nesta called from the kitchen. I was still rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I settled down at the island where Isra and uncle Cassian sat, already looking mischievous. 

“So bat-brain is back and all of the sudden you’re making pancakes again?” Cassian asked as he poured an unhealthy amount of syrup over his thick stack of pancakes. 

“Bat-brain,” chides Keorah. She makes her way over to slide in beside me dressed in yesterday’s clothes and hair falling out of the braid thrown back over her shoulder. “I like that one.”

“He has no right to wield such an insult when it applies to him as well,” Aunt Nesta quipped. “And don’t blame Milo, it’s this sucker.” She pats her belly poignantly. “It craves something and suddenly I can’t focus on anything else until I’ve eaten it.”

“Kind of like you when we were first mated and you couldn’t stop thinking of my—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Aunt Nesta points at him with her spatula, a knowing smirk on her face. I grimaced and Keorah laughed.

“Bat-brain, bat-brain, bat-brain,” Isra babbles softly beside me between bites. 

Truly and whole heartedly, I pitied those who’ve had to put up with them for so long. 

I sighed and rubbed my face in my hands then mumbled to Keorah, “There’s a lovely little breakfast place along the Sidra, if you’d like to go. We could get some peace and quiet.” I spit the last few words at my aunt and uncle who in turn roll their eyes. 

“Bat-brain, bat-brain, bat-brain.”

Keorah grins. “No, I quite like it here. Nice change of scenery from meal time in the Spring Court.”

Cassian said, “I think I’d rather talk to Bryaxis for a few hours then endure such a thing.”

“Bryaxis?” Keorah quirked an eyebrow. I wanted to kiss it, to pepper her forehead in kisses then make my way lower—

I blinked a few times to rid my mind of the images. “Mum made a bargain with a creature living under one of our libraries to help her out when she was being attacked, then once more to fight with the Hybern wars. All it wanted in return was somebody to talk to it about life.”

“Well that doesn’t seem so bad,” Keorah hedged. 

“Doesn’t seem so bad when he’s not eating you,” my uncle huffed. She looked to Cassian with a grin who was practically inhaling his pancakes, syrup dribbling down his chin. Aunt Nesta kept flipping more on her griddle and two plates appeared before my mate and I. 

Keorah shot me a wary look as Nesta plopped three pancakes on each of our plates, then reached over to bring the syrup to us. Cassian finished his plate and raised it up for more. Aunt Nesta only rolled her eyes before pouring more batter onto the griddle. 

But Keorah was still staring down at her plate. I didn’t know what she ate last night or for lunch yesterday, but no matter since she heaved up most of it in the wee hours of the morning when we were together in that bathroom. My gaze shifted to Isra who was still babbling and eating obliviously, then Cassian who seemed to be in silent conversation with Nesta, communicating down that shared bond of theirs. 

_Uncle Cass_ , my daemati powers said to his mental shields. He made no move to look towards me, yet still let down a part of his shield, enough to let me in and speak to him. 

_Don’t look at Keorah while she eats. No matter what you do. Tell Nesta as well. She’s uncomfortable eating around others._

I hoped he wouldn’t push it, but I knew that uncle Cassian, above all, understood pain. He understood everyone’s personal coping mechanisms, no matter how self-destructive they were. If I showed him my scars, what I do with my pain, I knew he’d understand. But I wouldn’t trust him not to run to my parents and tell them how fucked up their kid is. 

“Bat-brain, bat-brain, bat-brain.”

I dug into my pancakes. Keorah shot me a look and I only tilted my head toward her plate. She sighed, then after glancing around the table to see if anyone was watching, began taking slow bites. She seemed to sigh in delight and I didn’t blame her. Aunt Nesta made the best pancakes.

“Where’s the rest of the tribe?” I wondered to Uncle Cassian. 

He looked to me, careful not to let his eyes wander over Keorah, then said, “Preparations for the High Lord and High Lady meeting. We’ve already gotten responses.”

“So quickly?” During the Hybern Wars, mum and dad said it took weeks to rally the seven courts. 

“It seems as though Vivianne has caused quite the storm. She’s ready to storm the Night Court in demand for answers.”

I heard a chuckle from beside me. At that I looked to see my mate with a smile, a reminiscent glint to her eyes. When she noticed Cass and I looking at her, she said, “Vivianne was a good friend of Mama’s. She means no harm to the court; she’s only worried for my safety.”

“Our relation with them is still on thin ice, no matter how hard we’ve tried.” Cass shrugged his shoulders. “Some things just can’t be forgotten.”

Aunt Nesta grunted in agreement. “Like the sight of you singing your heart out during karaoke night at Rita’s.”

“ _That was between us_.” Uncle Cass hissed, and aunt Nesta only smirked. 

“People got up and left. I’m pretty sure you even helped Rita get rid of the mouse problem she was having.”

“Why wasn’t I invited to this?” I wondered, yet Cassian kept grumbling. His grumbling stopped, though, when aunt Nesta heaped another pile of pancakes onto his plate. Once again, he attacked the things as though he hadn’t eaten a meal in weeks. 

“You were still a toddler, Milonius,” Nesta hedged. “Besides, I don’t think your infant ears could’ve withstood Cassian’s voice.”

Cass growled once more mid-chew and I grinned. From the corner of my eye, I saw Keorah smiling as well, almost done her fist pancake. I’d finished my stack, and was pouring myself a cup of coffee from the pitcher laid amongst the breakfast spread, when Isra slid out of her chair. 

“Flying lessons!” She called over her shoulder. All I could see was her brown, golden hair bouncing and her Illyrian leather-clad frame running towards the door leading to the courtyard where sure enough, Mum awaited with Azriel at her side. Through the window she sent a little wave and I waved back. Soon enough the three of them were off. No matter the situation, no matter the threat of war or court politics shagging us to the bone, my mum and dad swore to always make time for family. They’d done the same for me when I was a child even though the renegotiations between the humans and faeries were being held and exhausting every member of the Inner Circle. Despite their exhaustion, uncle Cass still helped me train every morning and uncle Azriel taught me to fly every afternoon, while mum and dad would train my powers every day and night along with High Lord lessons. 

I wondered what it was like for Keorah, if she had the same lessons and training from her mother. Though I didn’t know the history between her and her father, it obviously didn’t seem like a good one, and judging by the way he constantly belittled her title of future High Lady, she didn’t seem like she was prepared for what awaited her in the future. 

I gazed over to her plate to see that she’d made her way through one and a half pancakes. She’d set down her silverware though, rubbing a hand over her stomach and mouth pulled into a thin line. Snapping my fingers, those two stray pancakes floated over to my plate on a phantom wind. 

“More for me,” I said and gave her a wink before chowing into the second stack. She shot me a grateful smile then wrinkled her nose at the sight of me chewing with my mouth open, only to distract her from her discomfort, of course. 

“Oh God,” Aunt Nesta put a hand on her stomach. I looked over to see she’d only taken a few measly bites. Suddenly she stood and ran for the door. Cassian was instantly up and chasing after her, calling, “Morning sickness!” Over his shoulder, leaving half-eaten dishes in their wake and a sink full of pots and pans to be scrubbed. 

My eyes flicked back to Keorah who was staring outside. She needed to get out, to drain that magic and get some exercise. I knew it would help clear her mind after being cooped up in the House of Wind for so long. 

With a wave of my hand all the dishes were in the sink and began washing themselves. Keorah quirked an eyebrow at me. “So you’re telling me you forced your poor family to wash those dishes yesterday when you could’ve just done _that_?” She pointed to the griddle being scrubbed by a sponge as if an invisible person were performing the task. 

I only smirked. “I like keeping them on their toes.”

She shoved my shoulder then stood, crossing the distance between us and crossing her arms. Her hair seemed to have regained its glow and shine, and her eyes were brighter than before, like finally some of the light leaked back into them. Even in her day old clothes, even with her hair falling out of her braid and those dark, deep purple smudges beneath her eyes, she seemed absolutely angelic in the morning light. I resisted the urge to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close, right in between my legs where I sat on the stool. 

“And what are we up to today, bat-brain?” She drawled, cocking her head to the side. 

The corners of my mouth tilted up in response. “We’re delving down into that power of yours, angel. Time to see what’s really under there.”

* * *

In Peregryn leathers, she was gorgeous. A warrior incarnate, ready to take flight with the mighty flaps that connected her biceps to her sides. But in Illyrian leathers that hugged every inch of her skin and curves…

She was deadly. Badass. Incredibly sexy. 

I looked her up and down as she crossed over to me in the court yard, a smile on her face. “What are you looking at?”

“Where did you get those?” I pushed off the edge of the lounge chair and sauntered over to her. She had to tilt her head up to meet my gaze. 

“Nuala found them for me. Even quickly hemmed and tightened them so they could fit me properly.” She stared down at them appreciatively. “Not like mine, but they’ll do.”

“Oh, they’re doing just fine,” I said, and she slapped my arm. 

“If I were to make a daring inference, Milo, I’d say you’re hitting on me.”

Uncharted territory. We’d yet to discuss that night together in the meadow and what exactly it meant to both of us. But this playing, this banter between us…even if I yearned for it to be real for her, I’d make it work. If only to keep that light in her eyes. If only to keep this lightness in my chest, unlike the heaviness that’d been weighing me down for so, so long. 

“And if I were to make a daring inference, Keorah, I’d say you like it.”

She swatted my arm once more but I only took her hand and winnowed us away. 

 

Keorah

We stood in the middle of a clearing amongst a sea of evergreens deep within a blanket of forest far from civilization. The wind rustled and howled through the pine trees, sending goosebumps down my body as it wrapped me within its chilled embrace and whipped at my hair. Milo only slid his hands into his pockets. 

“What are we dealing with here?” He inclined his head towards me and my eyebrows furrowed. 

“What do you mean?”

“What powers were you given?” 

I quirked an eyebrow at the bluntness of his question. I felt as though I were a student trying to prove myself to a teacher.

He only gave me a pointed look and I sighed. “Strength, shapeshifting abilities, wind manipulation, misting powers, winnowing, fire manipulation, spell-cleaving, spring growth and healing powers.”

Milo nodded slowly, then asked, “Have you ever tried any others?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Have you tried manipulating other elements? Like water, ice, darkness…” Something around him loosened and suddenly he was glowing with shadows, swirls of stars and wisps of night curling and bending around his very being. I took in the sight appreciatively then loosened my own dampen on my power, letting that golden sheen and rose kissed wind leak through. I swore there were galaxies shining in Milo’s eyes as they swallowed me whole. 

“No, I’ve never tried,” I answered, then shrugged. “Why would I?”

“Well, did you know that you’d have fire powers? Did your mother or father have them?”

“Mama said her dad had them,” I said quietly. “That no matter how hard she tried to summon them, they wouldn’t appear.”

“Well, let’s just test it out. Call it an experiment.” There was a devilish gleam in his smile, and it made me pause. 

“I don’t like that look.” I said. 

“What look?”

“You look like a cat that just found a damn mouse.”

“Well, in that case you’re a very cute,” he closed the distance to tap my nose with his finger and I scowled at him, “very lethal mouse.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“Anytime, angel.”

I rolled my eyes then turned to the clearing, releasing a deep breath. “Alright. Say I want to try this experiment of yours. Where do we start?”

* * *

“It’s been four hours,” I panted, my face a tight grimace as I took in Milo swinging his legs up in the tree he’d made a home in during hour two. “Can we please give it a rest? It’s obviously not working.”

“Oh, it’s working just fine. Four hours ago, were you able to summon water?”

“This,” I snarled, raising my hands where a few stray droplets lay, “is not ‘being able to summon water’. For all I know this is my damn sweat.”

“Then at least you’ve got your workout in for the day.” He chirped then pushed off the tree, landing swiftly on the ground. “And, you’ve released your power. Doesn’t it feel so much better?” 

I grumbled some horrid words that would even make Bron and Hart raise their brows as my eyes wandered over to the strip of forest I completely burned through. It looked as though forest men had clean cut only one perfectly manicured slice of trees.

“Alright. Last one, then I promise we’ll go.”

I rolled my eyes and huffed a sigh, raising my palms again. My other gifts had been mastered through hours of secret training with Mama and could be accomplished in the blink of an eye, but when it come to these weird tasks Milo had me doing, I needed a clear outlet. 

“Try to summon darkness.”

“Milo, I have no idea where to even _begin_ —”

Quick, even strides and I felt the heat of Milo’s body flush against me. The comforting, caressing voice came from just behind me, so close to my right ear that his breath tickled the shell of it. My eyes closed, and I raised my palms. “You know what it’s like to stare at that darkness, Keorah. We both know its emptiness, its despair, its awful grip that feels like its choking the very breath of your lungs. But you also know the comfort and hope that lies within it if you're willing to look for it. The feeling of staring out into the vastness and not feeling so alone.” He paused, swallowing hard, and I felt my magic careening through me, thrumming and electrifying my very nerves. “You know darkness, Keorah.”

I opened my eyes. For a second, there was nothing. Birds chirped in the trees, leaves rustled in the breeze. 

The next, the world disappeared. As if all light and matter had been instantly sucked away, leaving only inky black behind where sunshine had once shone through. 

I let out a surprised laugh and spun around, unable to see at all. For a moment I thought I was just fooling myself, that I’d just closed my eyes really tightly—

But Milo’s laughter met mine and I felt hands stretching out before me. I captured them with my own, curling my fingers around his, and slowly his body neared mine, though I couldn’t see exactly how small that distance between us had shrunk. 

There was this…electricity between us. This thread. One I’d felt before, that thing within me that drew me to him—it was whispering now once again. _Milo, Milo, Milo—_

“Milo,” I breathed. 

“Angel?” The words came from just above me. His warm breath tickled my cheek. 

I didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to do as that thing within me sang, just sang as our bodies pressed together and—

Just like that, the darkness evaporated. 

We were pressed together, hands intertwined and mouths inches apart, but something was off as I took in the sudden alertness and worry lining Milo’s features. I stepped away, blinking at what’d just happened. What was that thing? Why did it pull me, why did it push me towards him—

Then Milo was clutching my hand, all light and humour drained from the air. “We’ve got to go home.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he said, and the look he shot me was true panic as we folded into dust and darkness.

* * *

We arrived in the courtyard where a huddle of people surrounded something near the edge of the estate's property line down by the water. It seemed as though the entirety of Milo's Inner Circle had amassed to deal with whatever had struck that pure fear I read in Milo's eyes only seconds ago in the clearing. Milo tugged on my hand and we were sprinting to where the others were down the stone path that weaved through the courtyard. A head whipped around to see us and it was Feyre, her face ghastly pale and lined with guilt. 

“Keorah, I don't know if you want to see this.” Her voice sounded guttered. What could have been so bad to fill her features with such emotion? It only made me push faster off the ground until Milo was stumbling after me. 

We reached them and Rhys turned to us with his lips tightly pursed. Cassian, Azriel and Mor were talking lowly with each other about tactics and... and of Tamlin. Why were they speaking of Papa?

I weaved through them and befell what exactly had been troubling them. 

To see Vesna's head, cut clean off of her neck, spiked on a stick. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry for not posting in a while!  
> Wishing you a happy start to the new year. Currently, I'm writing chapter 17 and things are really starting to pick up. If any of you are finding things dull right now (which is completely understandable, I'm really not good at writing action sequences and this is my first time writing fantasy) then believe me, things should pick up a little! Please, stick with me on this because I promise things are getting exciting.   
> And to those who are waiting for romance, it's coming! I swear! You'll get lots of it, I just need to give my bbs k and m some time to figure their shit out.   
> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!


	14. Void and Hope, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah copes with the loss of a loved one.  
> Trigger warning: mention of self-harm, minor character death, graphic descriptions.

Keorah

I sank to my knees. 

I donn't know when the tears started but they trailed down my cheeks to my jaw, to my neck. A heavy silence befell those behind me. No, I realized, they were speaking faintly, but their voices sounded as though they were travelling to me through water. 

Vesna's eyes were open and unblinking and her face was paralyzed with fear. Vesna, who'd been there at my side every single morning through the good in the bad until the very end, who'd combed my hair whenever panic would strike and I needed any calming touch to soothe my nerves. She'd crafted beauty from fabric and transformed me from dull to springing with life and joy just by the swipe of her brushes packed with coloured powders. 

She was so young. Only two or three hundred years, with a wife and two brothers whom she spoke so dearly of...

Yet another to add to my losses.

There was a note tacked to the spike. No one had dared touch it yet, but my fingers reached out and tore it off. It trembled in my hands as I unfolded the stationary, swallowing hard at the thickness in my throat as I broke the seal, stamped with a rose. Spring Court. 

_Unless you give her back, we'll see you Under the Mountain in two weeks' time._

_Tamlin_

It was all for shock. A threat. One life wasted in vain just to scare us. To scare me. 

I vomited all over the grass. 

Strong hands gripped my shoulders, pulling my hair away from my face, and somebody else knelt by my side to pick up the discarded stationary. 

I was heaving but nothing came out. Those hands ran soothing circles along my back, trying to comfort me, but they shouldn’t because I am a monster. I killed Vesna. This death is on my hands. And if I were to stay here, if I weren’t to hand myself over, then how many more would die for the sake of my freedom? How many more would die if only so I could live a life away from the shackles that awaited me in the Spring Court? Once I went back, I would never be allowed out. They’d ward everything in their capability against me to keep me exactly where they wanted me. For what? Who knew?

The heaving subsided and I slumped back against the figure behind me. Milo pulled me into his chest. I closed my eyes and focused on his scent and the comfort it brought me with each deep inhale. But I could still hear that dreaded voice whispering it over and over in my head: _monster, monster, monster…_

“Who is it?” Rhys’s voice was hollow and quiet. No one else dared breathe a word, no doubt due to the fact that Under the Mountain held hellish memories for the High Lord and High Lady with all the horrors they’d endured there. To have to fight within those lands, to have to face that dreaded throne room once again… I wouldn’t put them through it. Too many sacrifices, too many lives on the line only to save one. 

I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I said nothing. From behind me Milo said, “Keorah’s head lady.”

“Fuck,” Mor swore lowly under her breath. I finally raised my gaze to face the others surrounding us. Feyre and Rhys glanced at each other with a heart-aching pain and vulnerability I’d never seen either of them display so publicly in all my encounters with them. Meanwhile Cassian was only fixed wholly on Vesna, a sight I couldn’t stomach to see for another second, and Azriel wrapped a comforting arm around Mor who was shaking her head softly at the injustice of it all.

Complete strangers mourning a faerie they’d never met before. There was a certain beauty in the compassion Milo’s court held in their hearts. 

No one said anything for a while. Then an all-too familiar feeling began settling itself within my bones once more, one of complete and utter emptiness and apathy. As if somebody had flipped a switch, the world became dimmer, greyer, and my body felt so heavy and leaden moving my fingers seemed like a daunting task. All I could focus on was blinking and breathing which felt so difficult and impossible even if it was the simplest, basic bodily function. 

The only thought that persisted: _monster, monster, monster._

“I can take care of this,” Azriel offered quietly. I knew it was his voice if only for the smooth lowness of it, like shadows grating against each other to make sound. 

“No,” I said, the first word I’d spoken since I arrived. I turned my head, the gesture aching and exhausting, to face them. Milo remained behind me, still keeping his hands stroking up and down my back, my arms, sensations I drowned out if only to savour that nothingness I craved. “Please, I need to do this by tradition. By myself.”

Rhys held my gaze and only nodded his head once. “Of course. Is there anything you need?”

I pursed my lips, then turned to Vesna’s severed head once more, the sight threatening to swallow me whole. “A rose bush. Just a small one.”

“Alright.” With the snap of his fingers, a white rose bush stood at my feet. Not red, but they’d do just the same. Rhys heaved a sigh then wrapped an arm around Feyre, who was staring at Vesna as well. “Let’s go inside.”

Rhys and the Inner Circle left, leaving only Milo and I. I peeled myself away from him then turned to meet his pained gaze. Closing my eyes, I sighed as well. 

“I need to be alone, Milo.” The thickness built up once again. Tears pooled in the corners of my eyes. My voice broke on the word, “ _Please_.”

Milo paused for a moment. His jet black hair glinted in the sunlight as he ran a shaky hand through it, then reached out to cup my face. He only pressed a soft kiss to my forehead before pushing off the ground and heading in the same direction as the others.

Which left me alone with Vesna’s severed head, a rose bush and a broken soul. 

*

“Cauldron save her, Mother hold her, guide her to you. Let Vesna pass through the gates; let her smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Let her fear no evil, let her feel no pain. Let her enter eternity.”

Words I’d mouthed silently over and over again. 

It was custom at the Spring Court for the Rebirth. We’d done it for Mama, though not as long. I hadn’t dared visited her resting place where her ashes had been scattered, the rose bush located deep in the maze of the courtyard where the Rebirth had taken place. 

My hands were caked in blood and dirt. Blood, from trying to remove Vesna’s head from the spike, and dirt from clawing a hole into the frozen ground to plant the rosebush properly. I was near the border of the property in a hidden alcove by the river behind me. Usually it was tumultuous and loud with the might of its stream rushing by, but tonight its sound was dimmer as if it knew of the sombre occasion. 

The sun had set long ago. Even after I’d burned Vesna’s head, incinerated through it with my powers, even after I’d scattered her ashes amongst the rosebush and chanted the sacred words of the Old Language, I remained before the plant and prayed over and over again. 

Maybe the prayers would cleanse me. Maybe they’d wash away the guilt and sins and blame from my soul. But the voice in the back of my head told me I could never shed those. I wore them like a second skin. 

_ Monster, monster, monster— _

“Cauldron save her, Mother hold her, guide her to you. Let her pass through the gates; let her smell that immortal land of milk and honey. Let her fear no evil, let her feel no pain. Let her enter eternity.”

Let Vesna, a soul of good, a heart of kindness, let her enter eternity. Let her fear no evil, let her feel no pain. 

But I was too late. I was too late. 

 

Milo

“She hasn’t eaten,” I said hollowly.

We were in the dinette off the kitchen. The window provided a view of the backyard. From here I could see Keorah’s shadow: knees folded beneath her, hands pressed together, head lowered in prayer. She’d been this way for hours now since I left her there. 

“She’s mourning, Milo,” Mor said softly, reaching out from where she sat beside me to grip my shoulder. Amren had arrived minutes after we’d retreated inside from where she’d been residing in Adriata on a visit to Varian. When we gave her the news, she only wore a grim look of disgust and went searching for a drink. 

They’d all decided to get heavily liquored after the whole debacle, trailing after Amren to settle in the living room, save for Mor who sat by my side as I paced the length of the dinette. Before, with only the obsidian rose, a mere stone which we’d tossed aside like child’s play, war seemed far away. An impossibility after the years of peace we’d managed to achieve. 

But now…it was real. We really were going to war with the Spring Court. 

Under the Mountain, of all places. 

I felt that shift in mum and dad when he read those dreaded words off the cream stationary. Practically heard mum’s heart stop and the pain encompass her features just at the mention of that hell hole. To have to face the place where they’d both endured such torturous horrors…

I didn’t know if I could let them do it. I would do _anything_ , absolutely _anything_ for Keorah. I’d crawl across the entirety of this gods-damned earth if only to make her smile. But to see that fear and panic lining my parents eyes this afternoon… I wasn’t so sure I could be that selfish. Not after everything they’d already endured and sacrificed. 

“She’s going to freeze to death out there,” I finally pushed off the chair. Mor sighed but didn’t hold me back as I made my way to the doors to the courtyard. 

I didn’t hide the sound of my footsteps crunching towards her across the frozen ground. Today had been brutally colder than the past few, sending a thin frosted sheen upon the grass that crackled beneath each step. Keorah did not lift her head as I neared her, passing Elain’s garden, the crystal pool and following the brook to where it ran down and met the Sidra. There was Keorah, kneeling as she had been for the last few hours. 

Her hands were caked in crimson dirt. But one sniff had me knowing…it was blood. Cauldron boil me, she must’ve pried her head lady’s head from the spike. 

“Keorah,” I said softly. She made no move to look at me. Her mouth kept moving with the silent words she’d been uttering since the sun began sinking in the sky. 

I leaned down and kneeled beside her, then tentatively reached out to touch a hand to her shoulder. Thankfully, she did not shy away from my touch, yet still made no move of even acknowledging my presence. My fingers froze against her leathers. Yes, they were warm, but to stay out here right off the bank of the river without moving at all…

Her lips were blue. It was hard to tell by the dim light here so far away from the back steps of the house, but as they moved with her words they caught beams of light and confirmed my suspicions that if she wasn’t careful she’d lose her toes in such icy weather. 

“Angel, you’re freezing.” I tried once more. Nothing. 

I wouldn’t watch her like this. Couldn’t bear to. I knew of the Spring Court’s burial traditions, yet another barge of random court history that’d been drilled in me through High Lord lessons. The Rebirth was simple: spread the ashes amongst the roses and whisper the prayer. But not like this. No, this was punishment. To herself, surely, because she was likely taking this as a personal death. One aimed carefully by her father to pull the right strings into playing her right back into his hand. 

That fucking bastard. By the sight of the girl before me, it sickened me to know he knew exactly how to destroy her. 

I tried a different tactic. Whoever had trained her only brushed lightly over her mental shielding, because I only had to pass through a tangle of thorn bushes before I reached the edges of her consciousness. I hadn’t dared use that bridge of starlight and ivy between our souls yet. 

_Don’t shut me out._ I said. 

Nothing. 

_Please_.

I hated the word. But for her, I’d say it over and over.

It seemed like it incited a similar feeling within her because she finally opened her eyes. They were dull. Lifeless. As they had been days ago. As I dreaded they’d become the moment I saw the head on that spike. 

She slowly stared down at herself, then at her hands, and said, “I…” she couldn’t finish the sentence. It broke me to see her in such confusion and disarray. Her mind seemed scrambled, almost. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I murmured, gently sliding an arm around her torso. “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” 

She nodded distantly, a vacant expression clouding her face. I only pulled her closer to me and winnowed us into my room.

Faelights burned brighter the moment we crossed the threshold. I guided her to the bathroom and she only followed me, her face still devoid of any expression and her eyes looking far-off as though her body was here, but her mind was elsewhere.

“Do you want to bathe?”

She didn’t answer. I sighed.

“Keorah, I want to help you but you need to give me something to work with, here.”

At that she only turned her head and murmured, “Help.”

Then she began untying the many ties and buckles of the Illyrian leathers. I’d seen her naked. This wasn’t crossing any new boundaries, but it felt different this time with her in this vulnerable, raw state.

She was my mate. For her, I could ignore my feelings.

I drew the water of the bathtub and it slowly began filling with warm, steaming water. There were too many memories associated with that dreaded thing, mostly involving myself and blood running down my arms and thighs. I shook my head at the thought and leapt forward to help Keorah unbuckle an especially hard to reach cross tie along her back. The leather top fell off to reveal her in only her brassiere. Red, scarred flesh stared back up at me lining the skin of her abdomen and my blood boiled at the sight of it. 

She loosened her pants and stepped out of those too, her mud covered fingers staining the brown, worn leather. They must’ve been an old pair of mum’s Nuala found for her.

After grabbing a wash cloth from beneath my sink and wetting it in the warm water, I approached Keorah with my hand outstretched. Without asking she offered her hands and I began slowly wiping away the blood and dirt caked to her skin. Even after rinsing them multiple times under the sink water, there still remained mud caked in her fingernails.

I poured a generous amount of lavender soap into the tub and a frothy foam covered the water to offer my mate some semblance of privacy while she soaked. Keorah stepped over to the tub and gripped the porcelain edge, closing her eyes. She reached out behind her to tug her hair out of its braid, and her golden locks fell in waves to frame her gaunt face. She squeezed her eyes shut once more, and when they opened tears were pooled there.

I sat myself upon the ledge of the tub. We were silent save for the leftover droplets of water falling from the lip of the faucet. Before I could stop myself, I reached out and pushed a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, then held my hand there. Her skin was cold to the touch.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I murmured.

Her eyes flicked to mine then back to the water. Then she was pulling her brassiere over her head, exposing the soft flesh of her breasts, then stepping out of her underwear. She climbed into the tub and slowly eased herself down, sighing as she laid back against the porcelain and sank into the water.

“It took me almost a week to take a bath after Mama died,” was the first thing she said. I furrowed my brows at the strange comment, but she didn’t notice the gesture, only stared straight ahead before continuing.

“Vesna was the one who finally forced me into it. I refused her every single morning, and my hair was becoming matted and I smelled absolutely awful.” She shook her head, and a small smile laid upon her lips, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. “But she told me straight that I needed to continue. That I needed to get out of bed and just face it. She got me back into that bathtub, even if I was sobbing and crying. I fought her the entire time, but I did it. Thanks to her.”

My hands gripped the porcelain of the tub. I gazed down at her questioningly. “Why couldn’t you bathe? What was stopping you?”

Keorah swallowed hard. She still didn’t meet my gaze. “I found Mama dead in her bathtub with night berries in her hands.”

My heart broke, over and over and over.

“The healer said her heart must’ve stopped just seconds before I found her. I tried hauling her out, I tried healing her, I tried everything but I was…” her voice broke, and she coughed against the sobs trying to choke their way out of her. “I was too late.”

“She wasn’t killed by the Naga.”

She shook her head. “A ruse to cover it all up. The only people who knew were me, Papa and the healer that evaluated her body.”

Keorah wiped at her eyes then slowly slid down in the tub until she was submerged in the water.

 

Keorah

Maybe if I stayed there in the depths of the murky warmths of the water, all else would disappear, and I could let the silence fill the void within me. 

But like every other time I’d done so, panic seized my bones. Images of my nightmares haunted me, and all I could think of was that black sludge pressing down on me and eating away at my flesh and bones—

I broke through the surface of the water and gasped. I must’ve been under there for a good minute without even realizing the passing of time. When I looked to my left, Milo wasn’t there. I scanned the bathroom and listened for footsteps sounding from his bedroom but heard nothing. 

Then he appeared in a cloud of darkness and starlight, his face looking solemn as he approached me with a bottle clutched in his hands. An incline of his head and I looked over the edge of the bathtub to see a stool appeared there. Milo only drew back the sleeves of his dark grey shirt to his elbows and sat himself down behind me. 

“What are you doing?” I asked, turning around to meet his gaze. He set down the bottles on the small ledge jutting out just above the lip of the tub where it met the wall. Other bottles were there labeled with various scents. 

“I’m trying to help you relax. Calm your nerves.” He made a twirling sign with his finger and I turned in the tub. The sound of a cap unscrewing was all I heard before a liquid was being poured onto my head. 

My brows furrowed for a moment at Milo’s so-called definition of ‘relaxation’ but I understood when his fingers slowly began working that tonic into my hair and scalp. His fingers were rubbing at my temples and I hadn’t even realized my head was pounding until he kneaded the front corners of my temples and I loosed a heavenly sigh. 

The night-kissed scent of jasmine wafted down to caress me, wrap me in a blanket of comfort and peace that drowned out the blearing pain and apathy threatening to consume me only moments before. I realized how cold I’d been in that moment at the feeling of my toes slowly beginning to thaw in the steaming water. 

It was so hard transitioning from that faraway place I sometimes escaped to in my mind then back into the present moment where I could see and touch and taste and smell and hear life beckoning to me. To go from crushing agony to soothing bliss. For a moment, I forgot about the loss bearing down on my heart, and the war waiting imminently for us in two weeks. 

“After they captured me, I dreaded everything that reminded me of that night.” I said nothing as his fingers worked down to the nape of my neck. My lips parted in a silent gasp as he kneaded out the knots there. “I would fly or walk anywhere if I could, and if I winnowed it was with someone else. Every night I hated the sensation of being in my bed because it felt like I was lying in the darkness in that box. They made me fear darkness, the very thing bred into my blood.” He swallowed audibly from behind me. “Some nights I still can't sleep. I have to open the curtains and lay above the covers if only to feel a little less suffocated. My greatest fear is that I'll open my eyes and be back in that box with the mask covering my face.” He paused for a moment, and his fingers slowly withdrew themselves from my hair. Milo stood and wiped his hands on a thick, white towel. “Rinse,” he said softly. “I'll go get you some clothes.”

I nodded and submerged myself once more in the water's cloudy depths. My hair felt soft and clean as I ran my fingers through the strands. When I emerged once more, I reached for a washcloth and began scrubbing my skin. 

Ears straining, I listened for Milo's footsteps, but they were far away. Then I peeled away my glamour. 

The white scars lining my body stood out starkly against my golden skin. The fresh claw marks were still healing even after the hour long daily sessions I had with Madja during my time at the House of Wind. They were red and shiny and repulsive along my abdomen. I touched a gentle hand to me face as well to feel the five jagged scars running there. I was gonna be sick. I shoved the glamour back into place, unable to stomach the sight of myself. Would they ever fade away? Or would I have to bare this blatant reminder of all the pain I'd endured for the rest of my immortal existence?

When I lowered my hand, I stared down at the tattoo that laid there. It was beautiful, patterned markings and tendrils of darkness creeping down to the tips of my fingertips. The tattoo Milo and I shared, for life, lest our bargain be broken. I wondered what it would be like to have them covering the entirety of my body. 

I shook my head and focused once again on cleansing my skin. 

By the time I was done and rinsed, Milo returned with fresh towels and a pile of warm, comfortable looking clothes. He handed me the towels and I stood, stepping out of the water and onto the bathmat where I could dry myself off. 

He stepped back into his room once again, allowing me the privacy to change, and I raked my fingers through my soft hair, patting it gently with the towel, before walking back into his room clad in a soft white long sleeved shirt and billowy grey cotton pants. Milo sat on the edge of his bed, but stood as soon as I entered the room. 

“I’ll walk you to your room,” he said quietly, extending a hand toward me. 

I stared at it and thought of my hands covered in Vesna’s blood. Of those dull, lifeless eyes staring back up at me through the flames that’d incinerated her head. I blinked the thoughts away and stared back up at Milo, pursing my lips. 

“I don’t…” I shook my head, glancing down to my feet. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. Not after…everything.” I settled on that. Voicing the words, voicing what’d happened today would only make it more real, make it not feel as though this had all been a nightmare and I’d wake up and everything in the world would be righted. 

“You can stay here. I don’t bite.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Unless you want me to.”

“Prick,” I said, but smiled all the same. Milo knew exactly how to take my mind off the heaviness in my heart like nobody else could.

Milo headed over to his grey dresser and I perched myself on the right side of his bed, watching his muscles contract along his back as he lifted his shirt over his head. As soon as the shirt peeled away, his wings appeared, spread to their full length. They shined beneath the faelights adorning the walls at every few intervals.

He unbuttoned his trousers and stepped out of those, as well as his undershorts. I bit my lip, taking in the sight of his glorious, muscled back side. 

_Enjoying the view?_ A voice asked. Milo sounded husky even in my mind. 

_Isn’t that all you males are good for anyway? Eye candy?_

A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest, and he took his time finding another pair of undershorts before pulling them and softer, looser trousers back on. Then the faelights dimmed to a flicker and Milo padded softly over to the other side of the bed. 

“You know, I think you’re meant to get _under_ the covers,” he said as he pulled back the sheets and slipped between them. 

I rolled my eyes and he smirked back at me as I slid into the soft warmth that awaited me. The bed was huge, big enough to fit those wondrous wings that were so long they almost brushed my arm. I settled back against the pillows and let out a sigh. 

A weight shifted beside me, and I looked over to see Milo had turned himself onto his side and had his head propped up on his hand. “What’s on your mind, angel?”

I closed my eyes, clutching the sheets tightly between my fingers. “Her death is my fault.” My voice was barely as whisper as I finally let those words off of my chest, their weight becoming a little less burdensome now that they were out in the world. 

“Keorah,” Milo breathed. I hated that my eyes filled with tears, but it was true: if I hadn’t left, if my father hadn’t been so keen on getting me back in his grasp, then Vesna would still be alive.

“It’s true,” I said, voice rough and broken. “I should just go back tomorrow. End the fighting. Save both our courts from losing people. We shouldn't be starting a civil war over something as stupid as this.”

“Firstly, you did not kill Vesna. You did not tell your father to kill Vesna, he did that on his own and the only person who should be held responsible is him. So never, ever think that, because it isn’t true.

“Secondly, your well-being is not _stupid_ ,” Milo said, the words laced with the slightest growl, like the idea bothered his being. “And this war is no longer just over you. This is about Tamlin's reign and supposed good name needing to come to an end. This is about ending his thirst for power and hold over Prythian. Yes, angel, I never want to see you in his care ever again if I can help it. But my parents and I also want to squash that evil and backwards-ness in his court for good.”

I swallowed hard then turned to Milo. His eyes flitted across my face, to the tears on my cheeks, and he reached out to swipe them away with the pad of his thumb. 

“It should’ve been me.”

There it was. The truth living within me after all that’d happened in the past few months. The words Papa had muttered to me before the estate had caved in upon us. 

“How am I…” I trailed off, shaking my head slightly. “How am I supposed to live with this?”

“With what?” He asked softly. 

“With this…” I placed a hand to my chest. How could I describe the feeling of your very own thoughts shredding you to bits? “…this heaviness.”

Milo gave me a weak, broken smile. “I’ve been alive for half a century and I still haven’t figured it out, Keorah.”

I let out a quiet laugh and we held each other’s gazes. His face was still stunningly handsome even in the dim light, his hair falling in haphazard strands across his face. Smooth skin etched with those wondrous Illyrian swirls peeked up at me from beneath the sheets, and I remembered the feeling of the smooth, soft skin beneath my fingertips.

Fingertips that’d held Vesna’s ashes, cradled them before scattering them around the rose bush by the river—

_She’s dead._

The thought careened through me as though I truly felt it with my entire being this time. Another person gone from my life—

“C’mere,” Milo murmured softly. I didn’t know I was sobbing until I realized that the shaking of the bed was my chest heaving. 

I shifted towards him until those muscled arms wrapped around my figure and pulled me into him. His hands cradled my head as I buried my face into his chest and breathed in the comforting scent of him, eucalyptus and pine and citrus. So familiar. Like…like home. 

“You summoned darkness today.” His soft breath ruffled the hair at the crown of my head. 

“Thanks to you,” I said, thumb brushing smooth strokes back and forth along his bicep. The membranous wings sprouting from his back peeked over his shoulder, limp against the cradling mattress beneath it. 

“Do it again,” he murmured. 

“I don’t think I can.” I’d been under such stress and it’d taken so much practice and training to lead up to that moment—

“Just try.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. 

Vesna. Mama. Papa. Back in my room, in the Spring Court, curled in bed as I’d been so many times day after day, letting the pain consume me whole until I couldn’t feel anything anymore. All those late nights in my bathroom patching up wounds with Mama at my side trying to stifle my sobs. Her eyes filling with tears every time I asked her why we couldn’t just leave, to escape and live on our own, anywhere but with Papa in that estate. 

I opened my eyes. To find that the darkness behind my closed eyes had trickled into the space around Milo and I. 

“My mother has this tapestry in her painting studio across the city,” Milo murmured. I felt him beside me, his fingers brushing soft circles on my hip. “The material is so black that it seems like it’s going to suck up everything surrounding it. The weaver who made it called it Void.”

That’s what this looked like. That’s what it _felt_ like, within me. 

“But there’s this silvery thread in the centre etching out the Night Court insignia. Against the back drop of Void… it’s stunning.” I could picture it in my head. “The weaver called that thread Hope.”

As soon as that word left his mouth, the world around us exploded with millions of little specks of starlight floating around us. They were faint, so faint, but they were there dancing and lighting up the darkness. Hope in the Void. 

I lifted my hands to cup one of those stars. It glowed dimly in my palms. 

“Never lose it,” Milo said. His fingers reached to hold my chin and tilt my face up to meet his. It was so full of emotion, full of passion, and…something else I couldn’t place. “Never lose that hope.”

“I’ll try,” I rasped. “I promise I’ll try.”

He released my chin, then tucked me into his side, and I burrowed my face once more into his chest. He continued stroking those patterns along my back. 

“Sleep, angel.”

* * *

I slept so well, the nightmares didn’t even strike once. No, it was midday by the time Milo and I woke up tangled together in his bed. 

“Wake up, younglings! We’ve got a meeting to attend!” 

I blinked blearily to Mor’s voice screeching from just outside Milo’s door. Then I looked down to Milo who was frozen beside me. 

“What meeting?” I demanded, voice scratchy with sleep. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he threw the sheets off of him then ran to his armoire, scouring through drawers, pulling pieces of clothing out left and right. 

“What meeting?!” I preened once again. Mor’s voice chuckled from outside the door. 

“You didn’t tell her, nephew?” At Milo’s string of vile curses aimed at his aunt, Mor only laughed once more. “The High Lord and High Lady meeting, Keorah. We’ve got to get all these bats primped and presentable for the nobles of Prythian!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! Sorry for not uploading in a while, I'm currently in exam period and everything's very stressful right now! Next chapter should be up in a few days.  
> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	15. Clouds and Arrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The High Lord and High Lady meeting goes off without a hitch! (it's opposite day in Prythian.)

Milo

I sat in the sitting room with the rest of the Inner Circle waiting for Keorah, who’d been whisked into Nuala and Cerridwen’s hands moments after we’d woken up. 

I could never forget the feeling of her body fitting so perfectly next to mine, of wrapping her up in my arms and breathing in her intoxicating rose-vanilla scent. Nor could I forget the image of the darkness she’d breathed into the world, and the starlight I’d given her to light it up. Last night seemed impossible. An evening I'd craved for so long despite the awful stain on it by the events of yesterday afternoon. Moments I wish I could relive over and over again.

Despite it all, she still gave no indication of recognition for the bond between us. How could she not feel that electric bridge between our souls? How could she not feel that all-consuming, blood-heating sensation, the one that burned through me every time we touched?

“If you keep fidgeting like that, I’m going to have to give you a sedative,” mum quipped from where she leaned against dad, both against the wall of the threshold crossing into the entrance hall. I gave her a pointed look and rolled my eyes. 

She and dad looked regal in their finery. She wore a long dark gown of shimmering material that seemed as though it were dripping down her frame in swaths of transparent mesh fabric. Dad wore a matching dark tunic made of the finest black cashmere accented with silver buckles and threads weaving patterns of stars and constellations across the seams. They were so tiny, they seemed like specks, but if you looked closer they traced the patterns we’ve tracked for years in the sky. 

My matching dark tunic bound the three of us, a family unit, along with the crowns atop our heads. Mum’s was of stars and a crescent moon, while dad’s was great swirls of darkness. Mine beheld spikes of onyx and quartz, and the divots dug into my head bitingly beneath its weight.

“Why didn’t you tell her the meeting was today?” Dad asked. He hadn’t been very content that we woke up so late, yet shot me a thumbs up after Mor told him she’d found us tangled together in the sheets. I wanted to throw them all into the Sidra as they teased me around the breakfast table. 

“Because, I didn’t want her to worry about it.”

“Well, I think you made her worry when you announced it first thing in the morning and practically shoved her into Nuala and Cerridwen’s hands.” Uncle Cass drawled from the couch seated beside aunt Mor and uncle Az. “She looked like she was going to combust, poor thing.”

“Wouldn’t surprise me if she did,” Amren muttered, picking at the skin beneath her nails where she lounged near the roaring hearth. “Skin and bones, that girl is.”

“Watch it,” I growled lowly. They truly did know no boundaries. 

“We’re going to need to double up on all the wards today,” dad interjected smoothly as Amren bared her teeth at me. Uncle Az pricked up at that, the shadows surrounding him swirling. 

“Already done,” he said as one of those shadows leaned up and curled around his ear. “We’ve fortified those around Velaris, around us and around Keorah.”

“I want everything you can give on her,” I said to Az. He gave a brisk nod. 

“She’s not going anywhere, Milo. You have our word.” Uncle Cass added. He held a hand to his heart, and I knew he understood. 

Mor pursed her lips and looked to dad, a question dancing in her eyes. When dad gave her a nod, my brows furrowed. 

Mor hedged hesitantly, “Milo…there are laws. About minors and their protection across courts.”

“Yes, I know,” I said, hands wringing nervously in my lap. “We broke them. Tamlin has full right to storm our lands if he wants.”

“Exactly. But, there have been exceptions.” Mor swallowed hard, then said, “and that is if you both are willing to reveal that you’re mates,” she said the word quietly, “then the High Lords and High Ladies will rule in your favour.”

I cupped my hands in my face, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. The entire room seemed to pause as I took a moment to compose myself. 

She still hadn’t noticed it yet. Yes, there was that sense of honesty and friendship between us, and I knew she trusted me, but there was no room for a mating bond there yet. Not if she hadn’t felt it, not if she was still bathing in the darkness that consumed her mind—

“I can’t,” I shook my head as I finally glanced up at the rest of my family. “I can’t force it upon her. Not right now.” 

“It’s okay,” I hadn’t even realized mum had crossed the distance between us and was now at my side, a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll figure it out, Milo.”

I brought my hand up to meet hers then turned when startled steps thundered through the household.

“I’m sorry!” Keorah was breathless as she nearly flew down the staircase. She stood in the entrance hall, hand braced on the door frame to the sitting room, trying to catch her breath. “I’m sorry I’m so late.”

She was absolutely gorgeous. 

Even though that sprint had rustled her hair neatly done up in a braided crown at the top of her head, the stray golden pieces framed her face. I thought her eyes couldn’t get any more piercing until now as they scanned the room and finally settled upon my face. Nuala and Cerridwen had lined them with golden dust to bring out the flecks of amber light in her irises. And her frame, dressed in a gown of midnight indigo satin that hugged her torso, highlighting the curve of her waist and billowing out in flowing, dancing pieces of fabric…

She was regal. A High Lady, a queen, in every sense of the word. 

“Don’t be sorry, Keo,” Uncle Cass stood as well as the rest of the Inner Circle. “Milo’s the one to blame.”

“Keo?” Her nose wrinkled. “Really?”

“I quite like that,” Mor said. “Keo. Keo. Keeeo.” 

“Do you ever shut your mouth?” Dad wondered aloud with annoyance dripping from his tone.

“Never when she has an audience,” Amren huffed.

The family banter didn’t even bother me. Not even as dad and Cassian were now squawking on with Mor about Keorah’s new nickname, despite her protests. No, I forgot how my legs worked, still taking in the ethereal, entrancing beauty of my mate.

“Something wrong, nephew?” 

I hadn’t realized they were staring at me. I plastered a smirk on my face and sauntered over with the casual grace I’d picked up from my father. 

“Just wondering if we could squeeze in some time for breakfast.” We’d already eaten, but Keorah hadn’t. Amren’s comment from before hit a little too close to home, especially when taking in the size of Keorah’s waist and how I could practically see her ribs through the thin material of her gown. 

“I’ve got that covered,” Uncle Cass said. Thankfully, when Keorah’s face flushed red, the rest of my family pretended not to notice and moved onto the entrance we were about to winnow from. Casually, I hung by the threshold, watching as uncle Cass approached Keorah and pulled a cloth wrapped package from the inner pocket of his leathers. 

Keorah took the package hesitantly and unwrapped it to reveal a stack of neatly cut squares. They seemed almost like biscuits. 

“What are they?” She wondered, looking from the biscuits to Cassian’s face. 

“I had Madja make them for you,” he said quietly. “They’re nutrient, calorie and protein rich. The equivalent to a full meal until you’re ready to eat one.”

She stared down at the squares. Her expression was unreadable as she nimbly wrapped the package back up save for one, then threw her arms around uncle Cass. I took the package from her hands and slipped it into the pockets between the worlds, and she shot me a smile.

His chuckle echoed softly off the walls of the great hall as he returned her embrace. “You’re welcome.”

“Alright, now we’re really going to be late,” I said, and Keorah snorted yet still joined me within the entrance. One grateful look to Uncle Cassian and his returned nod of acknowledgment was all that needed to be said. 

“Nice crown,” Keorah murmured in my ear. 

I smirked. “Nice dress, angel.” I nodded down to the square in her hand. “Eat up. Make sure there’re no crumbs in your teeth.”

She rolled her eyes yet finished the square anyway, swallowing hard yet looking bright despite what awaited us in a few moments.

“Hold tight,” Dad said. 

Then we were smoke and dust and starlight.

The sky cracked open to reveal a blue sun-kissed sky tinted with pink and lavender, as though dawn’s very essence carried throughout the land at all times. Great big clouds drifted across the cobalt sky gently, lazily, tinged with rose and gilded around the edges with golden light. The air was balmy and fresh as we stared up at the mountain palace spiralling up, up, up past those clouds almost as though we had our own personal staircase into the heavens. 

My court was the court of dreams, of night and darkness and starlight—but the Dawn Court was the court of morning breezes, of dew and pink cotton clouds reaching out to gently flit your nose. Keorah’s hand reached up and she curled her fingers into them. They swirled around her hand, mist and vapour deforming against her touch. 

The palace was indeed a maze laid out in the open for all to see. Steps, balconies, archways, verandas and bridges linked all the spiralling towers and gilded domes together here at what seemed like the top of the world as we took in the city sprawled out below. Like the House of Wind in Velaris but infinitely more dizzying at such heights.

But I looked to my mate and saw a deep frown set into her features. I knew why as I took in those crystalline eyes scanning the surroundings. 

Lyra’s home. 

Her mother was born in these mountains. From what dad told me, Lyra’s mother was one of the greatest Peregryn warriors of the human wars five centuries ago. 

“I’m right here,” I said under my breath into her ear. I offered her my arm and she took it gratefully, her fingers wrapping around my forearm above my dark tunic. 

“I’m sorry.” She blinked hard and blew out a breath. We neared the entrance to a grand white glass door being guarded by a peregryn warrior, swathed in robes of white cloth contrasting beautifully against the dark ochre skin beneath. 

With mum and dad ahead of us, uncle Az and uncle Cass at our sides, and aunt Mor and Amren behind us, I gave Keorah one last reassuring look before casting a bored, unimpressed expression on my face. 

The doors opened to reveal we indeed were beyond late. Every spot was occupied across the table: Thesan of Dawn, Helion of Day, Kallias and Vivianne of Winter, Tarquin of Summer and Eris of Autumn. 

Eris had taken over from his father after slaughtering him and bringing end to Beron’s brutal reign. Though Eris wasn’t much better than his father, at least affairs in the Autumn Court have gone smoother for their council and their people. Beron wasn’t very missed, even amongst his family. 

Though what shocked me was the fact that the Lady of the Autumn Court sat next to Helion, both whom offered curt nods to mum and dad as we swept by and sat at our corner of the table. Nobody had informed me of the happenings between them. 

No matter, all gazes were fixed on us, from the High Lords and High Ladies to their court members surrounding them. 

No, not us. But Keorah. 

She didn’t pay them any attention, only stared straight ahead until we took our seats at Thesan’s right and Helion’s left. From behind the Lady of the Autumn Court and Helion another head of auburn pricked up and turned to take us in, a familiar face. Lucien, Keorah’s blessed father. He scanned her from head to toe then shot mum a grateful look. Keorah only gave him a tight smile before taking a seat beside me. 

Silence ensued as the High Lords and High Ladies narrowed in on my mate. 

She gave no sign of fear. Only stone cold indifference. 

“Well, you called this meeting, Rhysand,” Thesan sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I suppose you should do the mediating today.”

Dad shrugged. “Everyone is rather concerned about the well-being of Keorah, heiress to the Spring Court. I just wanted to assure you all that she left _willingly_ , that she is well cared for, and that we are _not_ holding her hostage.” He drawled the last part of his sentence, a distasted expression flicking across his features. “It seems as though some of you forget we aren’t a Court of Nightmares anymore. Now, if you'd exempt her from those foolish laws, she could live a life of peace.”

“Oh, bug off, Rhysand.” To my surprise, it was Vivianne that snarled the words, her fists clenched upon the table. Her gown of silver flickered in the sunlight as she shifted to the edge of her seat. “We heard what happened through the whispers in the Spring Court. You and Feyre went in on the grounds of diplomacy and left days later with your enemy’s nearly dead daughter, only a month after Tamlin’s wife was ‘ _killed by the Naga_ ’?” Vivianne used air quotations, her tone gaining volume with each word. “Your court has some sick revenge plot going on, and I don’t like it.”

Keorah was fuming beside me. I saw it as my eyes flicked down to her fingers where living claws of flame began to grow from the spaces between her knuckles. She took one look at them and they blinked out.

_What is it?_ I breathed down the bond. 

Keorah didn’t bother looking to me to answer, _Papa’s twisting the narrative. Making you seem like your court is doing this all to get back at him for what he’s done to you. They don’t—_

She paused. _They won’t believe me._

_If you told them, they would. But the choice is yours. Don’t let them force you into it._

Keorah swallowed hard then said lowly, “I left of my own free will.”

“And if they’ve broken into her mind?” Eris piped up. I had half a mind to splatter his blood on the walls after the stories I’d heard of what he did to Aunt Mor. “If they’ve scrambled her into believing different from reality?”

Mum snorted. “Of course. Anytime a member of our court tries to say different, it’s because we’ve brainwashed them to do so.”

“I have not been brainwashed, or turned, or any of the things you’re describing,” Keorah interjected, a sneer upon her face. Now those talons were raging in flame, burning through the fabric of her dress. I tried my best of hide my look of alarm as I reached out and curled my hands around those flames. They were hot yet they didn’t burn my flesh. I willed my hands into ice and water to calm the heat and fire emanating off of my mate. At my icy touch, Keorah finally looked down to see the remnants of ash and soot on her lap. One glance to me then back down to the dress, the evidence was gone, only violet fabric in its wake. A glamour, I supposed. She was wickedly good with those. Her tattoo was nowhere in sight, no doubt for what message it would give to the others surrounding us. 

“We know we broke the laws. We know that Tamlin or whomever else have full power to invade our lands and take her back.” I added quietly. Gazes flicked to mine, yet moved on quickly, no doubt unmoved by the words of who they most likely deemed a child. My blood boiled in my veins. 

Silence broke out once again. 

It was Tarquin who finally spoke. “Why?”

Mum and dad looked to one another, then to Keorah. It was her choice whether or not she’d divulge the kernel of darkness from her past. 

My mate’s eyes swept across the room to lock gazes with each noble sitting at the table. Then, ever so carefully, she dipped her head and lowered her gaze down to her chest. 

Where before I hadn’t noticed, smooth skin laid unmarked, soft and rich with golden light. Yet now, a sheen peeled back to reveal the angry, awful gashes Tamlin had left on his daughter’s body. 

Gashes that still managed to make my blood curdle in my veins, to make my heart trip over itself and drive me to want to scream in outrage until my voice gave out. 

“These were my father’s doing,” Keorah said. Her voice was unwavering, and she only showed world bending tenacity as she rose to her feet, hands splayed across the table. “You’ve seen what he is capable of. You have seen what he’s done to Lady Feyre all those years ago. No, I didn’t make any move to leave because I was trapped in that household. But they gave me an out and I took it.” She pushed off the table and slumped back into her chair. “I wouldn’t be alive right now if not. And I don’t plan on going back there any time soon.”

Eris scoffed. “It’s not your choice.”

Keorah’s head whipped to me. I held my breath as she then looked to my parents who nodded their heads solemnly. 

“The law says she is a minor. She belongs to her parents until she is of age.” It was Thesan who said the words with a certain final tone to them. “We call a vote. To grant her exemption or not.”

“How do we know those wounds are not shape-shifted skin? A glamour?” Eris looked around the table, and the Lords and Ladies were considering it. I wanted to break their necks.

“What would she have to gain?” It was Lucien, of all people, who cried out. “What could she _possibly_ have to gain from revealing that?”

“Success in whatever scheme they’re drawing up,” Vivianne said. “They’ve always hated the Spring Court.”

“Not without their reasons,” Tarquin countered. Eris rolled his eyes.

I had enough of this. “Is this how it’s always going to be? The big bad Night Court trying to decimate the rest of Prythian through whatever lies and tricks we can scrounge up?” I slammed my fist on the table. “She will _die_ if she goes back to the Spring Court. She almost died when her own father nearly tore her to shreds w _ith his own hands_.”

“That is not our problem. She can wait out the remaining time until she reaches maturity then leave.” Eris said. 

"If she steps foot in those lands, Tamlin will call in every ward he has to keep her exactly where she is," I snarled.

Eris chided with a snicker, “Oh Rhysand, has your spawn grown fond of the heiress of Spring? How adorable.”

I was seeing red. No, I wasn’t controlling myself as I stood from my seat so brusquely that it went crashing against the wall behind me. As I made to storm over and pummel that fucker’s face into the ground for all he’s done, hands were gripping me back, dragging me away from Eris’s sickening smirk—

“Milo!” Keorah’s voice cried out from behind me. She was pulling, pulling with all her might but all I could focus on was the condescension in his words and how they so blatantly ripped through me.

_Milo._

I was so shocked to hear Keorah’s voice in my head that I stopped. It wasn't through the bond. No, she must've been Daemati then.

_You’re better than him._ She was panting from behind me, and I turned to see her hair was falling out of the piece Nuala and Cerridwen had so carefully crafted. Behind her, uncle Az and Cass had also risen to their feet. Mor’s face was white as a sheet as she stared straight ahead and mum squeezed her hand. Dad looked to me in concern. 

I focused only on my mate’s face. 

_I’m sorry._

_You’re better than him, Milo_ , she said again, curling her fingers around mine and leading us back to our seats. _He’s not worth the effort._

I couldn’t find any words. Only stared down at my hands breathlessly. 

“So he really has—” Eris’s voice picked up again. 

“I’ll cut out your fucking tongue if you finish that sentence.” Dad’s voice thundered through the room, and he pointed a menacing finger in Eris’s direction. Wisely, the High Lord of Autumn shut his mouth. 

The tension in the air was electrifying, as if everyone was indeed sizing each other up in case a fight really did breakout. During meetings like these, it wasn’t uncommon. 

“We come to a vote, concerning parties excluded,” Thesan jerked his head to mum and dad, “those who grant exemption of Keorah are for, those who deny are against. Majority wins.”

All was quiet. Helion was looking across the room to the others’ expressions, yet it seemed everyone was doing the same. All a sick political game while the fate of my mate’s livelihood depended on their decisions. 

“I’m against.” Eris said smoothly. “I don’t trust any of you.”

“Bastard,” I mumbled under my breath. Keorah only closed her eyes, her features twisting. 

“I’m against.” My head whipped to Thesan. He only looked helplessly at dad who was shooting him a menacing glare. “I’m sorry, Rhysand. This entire situation doesn’t seem right.”

I opened my mouth to reply something nasty but mum cut me a glare that had me sinking back into my seat. 

“I’m for.” Helion said. Something within my chest loosened. Maybe the three others could pull through, maybe we wouldn’t have to go to war—

“As am I.” Tarquin added. 

Which only left—

“Vivianne.”

Keorah breathed the word. She looked up to the High Lady, tears in her eyes, a pleading look upon her face. 

Vivianne stared back, panic striking her features, unsure of how to answer. It seemed as though she would be making the decision on behalf of the Winter Court seeing as Kallias had withdrawn himself to the background with the rest of their court members. 

“Mama would want you to protect me,” Keorah’s voice broke on the words, and all I wanted was for us to be far away from here, back in my bed, so I could hold her and wipe those tears from her cheeks. So I could try to ease her pain. 

Vivianne’s eyes squeezed shut, and her voice was tight when she said, “She would.”

Something loosened in my chest. We won. My mate was safe—

“But Lyra trusted Tamlin. She loved Tamlin.” _No no no no_

“I’m against.”

As soon as the words broke out, two things happened. 

The first being my heart cleaving in two as the anguish overtook Keorah’s face and she contorted into a fit of sobs. 

The second being a strong, familiar male standing behind my mate, arms extended and reaching for her frail body. 

“ _KEORAH!_ ” She noticed when I did and jumped from her chair onto the floor just as Carrick’s arms went reaching for her waist. 

Uncle Azriel and Cassian were already there shoving Carrick back as I dropped and scrambled toward my mate. She was crawling away to the other side of the table, trying to put as much distance between her and Carrick as possible—

Only to see Tamlin on the other side waiting, his arms extended. 

“NO!” I tried winnowing to where he stood but I couldn’t, the wards were pressing down against me—

Keorah looked up and saw what I was yelling about and screamed, a guttering awful scream that had me reaching towards her. She pushed back and fell into me, and I held her as she began sobbing in panic into my shoulder, eyes wide and full of terror.

“ _THE VERANDA!_ ” Dad’s roar from over my shoulder. My head whipped to the glass door, then to the veranda we winnowed upon down the hall at the ledge overlooking the sunstone palace. I pulled Keorah along with me under the table as we crawled to the edge. There was chaos all around us as two more Spring Court soldiers unveiled themselves. People were yelling, others trying to winnow without success, and the clashing of steel against steel was nearly deafening. 

We finally reached the end and pushed off the ground. Then we were running. 

The clashing stopped and footsteps sounded from behind us. Keorah looked over her shoulder and her footsteps faltered. 

“Don’t let him,” Keorah sobbed, breathing hard. “Don’t let him take me.”

“Run,” was all I panted and she pushed stronger off the ground. But they were gaining on us, only a few more strides and they would be able to grab her. 

Until the sound of crashing waves boomed from behind us. There were two wet, heavy thuds, and when I turned my head, Carrick and Tamlin were trying to pull themselves off the floor, their tunics soaked in the water from the ponds. 

“Come on!” Keorah cried. I spun away from them. She’d controlled the water, she’d finally done it after the hours of practice we’d poured into training yesterday—

The ledge was only a few strides away. We leapt onto the surface, and I grabbed Keorah’s hand, ready to winnow—

Until Carrick’s evil sneer filled my view from where he stood twenty feet away, bow raised, and an ash arrow went barreling into my shoulder.

Keorah was screaming as we winnowed, folding between the pockets of the worlds and back home to the townhouse. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in a while! In the middle of exams. And sorry (but not really sorry) for the cliff hanger!  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	16. Cries and Gashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Milo's feeling a little holey.  
> Song mentioned is Everywhere I Go by Sleeping at Last. Definitely worth a listen!

Keorah

We landed in the townhouse’s front entrance with a crash. 

Milo was screaming, hadn’t stopped even when we were bending and twisting through the space between the realms. 

_No no no no no no_

His hair was disheveled as he laid below me, clutching his shoulder which was already pouring blood. The dark tunic which fit him so perfectly was now stained. I looked out beyond the entrance to the main hall yet no one was here. No, we were supposed to meet them at the estate, that’s where Feyre’s sisters were with Isra—

“Milo, I have to take the arrow out,” I blubbered, leaning over him. My blood had healing abilities. With shaky fingers, I reached into Milo’s tunic and searched around until they wrapped around cold, hard metal. A dagger. 

I plunged the tip of it into my palm and dragged it across. Milo’s yells were deafening, and he was writhing beneath me. If he wasn’t careful he was going to get splinters. Oh Gods, what if the arrow had been dipped in poison? His skin was so pale and his brow was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, which meant that poison could be making its way to his heart. 

I couldn’t lose him. No, I wouldn’t lose Milo.

As I shoved my hand across his mouth, I sobbed, “Shhh. It’s okay. Milo, it’s okay. Please.”

He was still shaking and thrashing beneath me. I grit my teeth and swung my legs across his torso to straddle him, ripping my dress in the process. I didn’t care, not as he was bleeding out, not as the terror filled his eyes. It lessened ever so slightly, probably due to my blood making its way into his body, soothing the pain and the panic. 

I withdrew my hand and wiped it on my sleeve, then looked down at the arrow. It was ash, with a feather tip and a thin, grey stem extending the length of my arm. I needed to snap it then carefully pull it out of both ends. Gods, where were his family, where was Madja—

I shook my head. I needed to do this before he lost any more blood, or worse, the ash found its way into his heart. 

“I need to take the arrow out,” I said as strongly as I could, clenching the dagger in my right hand. “You need to stay still, Milo. Please.”

“It hurts,” he breathed through his teeth. His eyes were squeezed shut, hair fanned out across the floor like a black halo surrounding his features. 

“I know,” I choked on a sob. I released a breath then steeled my fingers, wrapping them around the stem of the arrow, and began sawing. The pain of the arrow’s end moving within his flesh must’ve been unbearable because his eyes rolled back into his head and his wings flew out with a thump against the ground, the strain too great on his magic in such a state. I ignored him, just kept sawing until the dagger cut clean through close enough to his shoulder I could probably reach in and pull the rest out. 

I discarded the stem then stared into the clotted wound. I needed to pull it through from the other side. 

With a guttural yell, I picked Milo’s hulking figure up by his hip and propped him onto his side, carefully placing his wing away from the arrow’s path. This way the entry and exit points were made clear, and I could see the tip of the arrow peaking out of his back. 

There wasn’t enough to grab onto, and I couldn’t risk leaving behind any splintersThe arrow had gone clean through his skin. To take it out… I’d need to shove it the rest of the way through. 

Thank the Gods he was unconscious. 

With a sharp intake of breath, I wrapped my fingers around the stem of the arrow then pushed it all the way through. 

It released from his flesh with an awful, wet noise then thudded to the floor. My fingers stung, probably from ash splinters, but it didn’t matter because Milo was safe. The wound was already clotting. 

Two thuds sounded from behind me. I barely had the strength to turn around as the adrenaline slowly quieted and silence seized my bones. I was panting hard, and Milo’s face was contorted in pain, muscles contracted, but he wasn’t screaming or seizing. He was okay.

Relief shuddered through me.

“ _Milo!_ ” Feyre dropped down beside her son, smoothing his hair out his face. She was sobbing, clutching her son to her chest. I curled up against the wall, drawing my knees to my chest, trying to shove breaths in and out of my lungs. 

“What happened?” Rhys asked lowly, kneeling down beside me. He set a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I was grateful for the High Lord's steadying touch. 

“Carrick shot him with an ash arrow just as we were winnowing out,” I said. He looked to where I pointed at the remnants of the arrow. “I took it out.” Gods, Carrick had been so close to me, and Papa’s sneer of malice as we ran to the veranda—

“Did they hurt you?” His eyes scanned my body. I shook my head. 

“We need to fetch Madja,” Feyre said. Milo's eyes were fluttering, his head cradled in his mother's lap. 

“I'm sorry,” I said, “I just tried to do what I could—”

“Don't apologize,” Rhys commanded with such intensity that I looked up to meet his gaze. When I did, his eyes were lined with silver. He held a hand to his heart. “You saved my son's life. He'd be dead if you hadn't done that.”

Milo let out a weak groan and Feyre whispered reassuringly to him. Then his eyes opened and they were frantically searching the room, his limbs reaching out until our gazes locked and he let out a sigh of relief. 

“Keorah,” he huffed. I was at his side instantly, reaching for his hand and cradling it in mine. His fingers were so, so cold, and his face was still a pale almost greenish colour. 

I pressed a kiss to his hand. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

More thuds and there were the rest of the Inner Circle. Each bore a mask of lethal calm, yet the fear quickly trickled into them as they took in the blood soaking the carpet from Milo’s tunic. 

“Get Madja,” Feyre choked out. Mor winnowed instantly. 

“What happened?” Rhys looked over his shoulder to Azriel who was still scanning the shadows before him, hearing their whispers in his ears. Milo let out another strained groan and I squeezed his hand. His face only contorted as the pain continued to eat away at him.

Azriel said, “Tamlin and Carrick winnowed in before we got there. They stayed hidden with a glamour, ready in position to strike once the High Lords and High Ladies made their decision.”

I shut my eyes. Papa saw me tell all those people. He knew that I’d revealed all to them, that I showed them my newer scars. He’d have my head on a spike for that. 

“How couldn’t we detect them?” Feyre questioned. “Usually we’re able to sense a High Lord’s power and presence.” Her chin jutted to Rhys who nodded, though his gaze was clouded and unfocused, as though he was trying to piece something together. 

Amren interjected, “An old spell. When it fell apart I could feel it.” Her nose wrinkled. “It felt ancient. And evil. Not of Prythian.”

“Why did they wait before striking?” The question tore from my throat before I could stop it. 

“If the High Lords and High Ladies agreed to exempt you from the law, then taking you back to the Spring Court would’ve been a crime. So when they ruled against it…” Rhys ran a hand through his hair, a gesture Milo had picked up him. “They wanted to know who would side with them.” Rhys swallowed hard. “And, if the odds were in their favour, then they knew they could win in a civil war. We could win against the Spring Court easily, but four courts against us…” 

“It would be a bloodbath.” Cassian finished. 

“But—”

I wasn’t able to finish my sentence because Mor and Madja appeared in a whorl of smoke and darkness. Instantly the weathered, dark skinned woman got to work, quickly inspecting the wound before asserting he needed to be brought to a room. Feyre nodded and winnowed the three of them upstairs, leaving me sitting on the blood-soaked carpet in my torn dress with Rhys, Cassian, Azriel, Amren and Mor. 

Mor padded towards me and leaned down to squeeze my shoulder. “Do you want a change of clothes?”

I gave a slight nod and she was off, up the stairs in search.

My fingers were still caked in Milo’s blood, and they stung with a leftover feeling of ash wood against my skin. A snap of Amren’s fingers and the blood embedded in the carpet was gone. She took a seat in one of the velvet chairs and put her feet up with a sigh. “So we’re still going ahead with this?” There was enough irritation in her voice for me to know that she thought this, the war, was a stupid idea.

My face heated and I looked down to my shoes. I wasn’t embarrassed. No, I was ashamed because she was telling the truth. 

Azriel said with quiet venom, “We still have a shot.”

“But it’s slim.” I looked up to see Amren was already holding my gaze. “And many lives will be wasted.”

“ _Amren_.” Cassian hissed.

“She’s not wrong.”

Those three words were scratchy and hollow. The kernel of truth I’d been holding onto for these past few days. I wasn’t enough to start a war over, I certainly wasn’t enough for people to die over.

My eyes flicked across the room to the males who stood by the bay windows, Amren in her lounge chair, and Rhys who sat with his hands clutched in his lap. I’d never seen him so undone and distraught. 

“I can go back.” The words were a rush of breath. It killed me to think it, to live in that place of darkness and hopelessness, under the rule of the males who’d likely make my existence miserable for the rest of my life. But for this court, these people who’d welcomed me, healed me, taken care of me despite the history and despite not knowing me for more than a few days… I’d do it. 

For the safety of the boy who’d taken the arrow to the chest today lying upstairs, I’d do it. 

“No.” Rhys was up with a jolt, moving before Amren and staring down at her lethally. “When it was Feyre all those years ago, we prepared for war. We were ready to fight the Spring Court if it came to it. Not just because she was my mate, but because it’s what was right.” Rhys paused, and the entire room leaned in. “We’re going to do what’s right. We’re going to show Tamlin that him and his snivelling court aren’t going to get away with the shit they’ve pulled through these centuries any longer. We’re not going to do what’s easy, we’re going to do what’s right.” His chest was rising and falling rapidly, his eyes a swirling sea of molten amethyst in the afternoon sunshine. Rhys looked from Amren to Cassian and Azriel, then to Mor who’d paused on her way down the stairwell, awe-struck, a pile of clothes in her arms. “That’s an order.”

No one made a sound. Amren even shifted, her face now understanding. She gave one swift nod. 

“Yes, my lord.” Amren said.

“Yes, my lord.” The rest of the room echoed.

The sight sent a chill down my spine. 

Then Mor was at my side, extending a hand to pull me to my feet, then leading me up the stairwell.

* * *

The water trickled into the bathtub and Mor swooped down with the washcloth then dabbed it onto the skin of my hands. They were sticky, still warm and smelled of metal, yet the blood began to slowly ease away with each passing of the cloth. The pinkish water fell onto Mor’s gorgeous silver gown but she didn’t care. 

I could still see Papa’s face. Still feel my heart stop when I saw him at the other end of that table. He was seething, the complete epitome of his anger incarnate. Sometimes I wondered if my father should’ve been a part of the Autumn court with his fiery rage instead of Spring, a gentle grower of things. Gentle. Papa was anything but gentle. 

“What is it?” Mor’s voice was soft, like fresh cotton. 

I took a breath, then said, “It doesn’t get easier. Being near them.”

Mor snorted. “You can say that again. Centuries later and I still tremble when I see Eris.”

“What happened with Eris?” My brows furrowed. I’d never heard such stories about the Night and Autumn courts, though with good reason. The Night court was a subject Papa avoided at all costs. 

“I was betrothed to him as a girl,” she sighed, wringing out the stained washcloth before beginning anew to get the caked stuff beneath my nails. “When I sullied myself before marriage, my family nailed a note to me and said I was his problem, and he left me to die.”

I closed my eyes at the image entered my mind. The female before me, so bright and kind and beautiful in such distress…Who could ever do such a thing?

“I took it all those years,” I shook my head, my eyes clouding with tears. “I took the beatings and slashing and the embarrassment.” When I met Mor’s eyes, they were lined with understanding. Empathy. She knew as well, that pain. The one that ate away at my heart every single day. “Why do they do it? How can they do it?”

“I don’t know,” Mor breathed, holding my trembling hands in her slender, warm ones. “I still don’t know. I just know that I’m past it. I got out. And I promise myself I will never let myself be treated like that ever again.”

“And I am so sick of crying,” I wiped my cheek on my shoulder to clear the tears, but more fell to replace them. “I am so fucking _sick_ of crying but it’s like after keeping it inside for so long all it wants to do is erupt every damn day. I’m like—” I sighed. “I’m like a faucet.”

“A faucet.” Mor repeated. 

“A faucet.” I nodded. “I whine, and my eyes leak all the time and I’m annoying—”

Mor laughed, and for a moment I was shocked but then I found myself laughing along with her. Then we were doubled over, clutching each other, slapping the side of the bathtub where we were perched on. After a while we caught our breath, and there were smiles on both of our faces. 

“I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“Not at all, honey,” she smiled, then laid a hand on my shoulder. “But I know what you’re trying to say. The only thing I can tell you is that it hurts like hell right now. It really does.” She shrugged, her golden hair dancing on her shoulders. “But you have to break before you heal.”

* * *

Milo

My shoulder hurt. It did. But not as much to warrant my mother’s erratic behaviour.

“You’re sure you’re comfortable?”

It must’ve been the thirtieth time she asked in the last half four. 

“Yes, mum, I’m fine,” I hedged, shifting in my bed. She was already nearly glued to my side in the chair she’d dragged from her bedroom down the hallway. I wouldn’t put it past her to abandon the chair altogether and climb in next to me to coddle me in her arms. 

Mum nodded, then sighed, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know I’m overreacting. It’s just last time…”

Last time I was in an ash box. Last time I had tiny splinters all over my body that took almost an entire day to remove with a metal mask that wouldn’t come off of my face until Helion cleaved it off. 

“I know.” I reached out and took her hand in my own. It was cold but it still offered that strength and support I always associated with my mother. A small smile spread across her face she squeezed my hand, shaking it a little like she always used to when I was a kid. I gave a weak laugh. 

_“Mum,” I whined, breathless and sagging against the kitchen table, “I can’t do this. I don’t want to do this anymore.”_

_We were in the Illyrian house that dad stayed in when he was training with uncle Az and Cass. We’d been here for almost three months now, three months of harrowing training and brutal commanders who made me want to set them on fire. The worst, though, had to be the fact that all the other boys in my training frowned upon me for my lineage, for being a half-breed, for being a High Lord’s son, as if it gave me any advantage over them. Every day I would walk home tired, bleeding, muscles barking in pain and all for what? The title of being Illyrian? What did it matter?_

_“I know, Milo,” she murmured. “But I think I might have something to help.”_

_“What is it?” I bounded over to where she sat and she put her hands out._

_She said, “Take your hands in mine. Hold them really, really tight.”_

_“Okay.” I twined our fingers and squeezed as tight as I could. Mum smiled through her grimace._

_“Good.” She squeezed out. “Now, I’m going to transfer my strength to you. A lot of it. Are you ready?”_

_My eyes widened and I nodded eagerly, awestruck. My ten year old mine didn’t quite understand the concept of magic yet, but whatever mum was offering seemed mighty appealing._

_Then, her hands began to shake, along with her arms, and my mouth parted in shock as I beheld a faint golden light shining where our hands connected. After a few seconds, mum let go and breathed out a breath._

_“There. Do you feel it?” She panted._

_I stared down at my hands, then began bouncing and yelling with renewed energy. “You did it! I feel good! I feel great!”_

_It was then that dad walked down the stairs, a suspicious smile on his face. “What did I miss?”_

_“I can do this, dad!” I screeched. “Mum gave me her strength! I’m ready!”_

I smiled fondly at the memory. “You know that’s the only thing that got me through Illyrian training.”

“I know,” she sighed. “You hated every second of it.”

I squeezed my eyes shut at the thought. Hate wasn’t a strong enough word. 

“But you got me through it.” I gave her hand another squeeze. “I never got to thank you for that.”

“You didn’t need to, Milo,” my mother’s grey eyes softened, and she leaned over to press a kiss to my forehead. “I got you through that, and now I’m going to get you through…all of this.” She sighed. “Alright?”

I nodded and gave her a tight smile. But a knock jarred us from our conversation, and the room filled with light as Keorah peeked her head through the door. “Am I interrupting?”

“Of course not,” mum smiled, pushing off her chair to head into the hallway. “I need to go check on dinner preparations anyways. Milo, call me if you need anything.”

Keorah held my gaze silently. She stood there, clad in trousers and a long sleeve blouse with her hair unbound, falling in delicate curls upon her shoulders. It was so long it nearly reached her hips. I scanned her body and she was unscathed, thank the Mother. I didn’t know what I’d do with myself if she’d gotten hurt. 

“You scared me to death.” She said quietly, arms crossed and face looking like she just ate a lemon. 

I smirked. “I’ll try harder not to get shot next time, angel.”

She shook her head then raced to my side and threw herself onto me, launching herself into my arms. I let out a bark of laughter yet hugged her tightly, breathing in the fresh scent of her. Even though my shoulder ached, it didn’t matter because my mate was safe in my arms, untouched by the evil we’d encountered today. 

“Thank you,” I whispered into her ear. “Mum told me what you did.”

“Well,” she said, pulling away so our faces were nearly touching, “I think I’d miss your bat-brain a little too much.”

“More like you wouldn’t survive my family without me,” I remarked drily and she laughed, a sound that had me pulling her even tighter to my chest. 

If only I could kiss her. If only I could run my hands up and down her waist, then lower, have her touch me so sinfully like she did that night. 

But I would wait until she knew. For now, I’d take whatever I could get. 

“How are you feeling?” I wondered aloud. I hadn’t had time to ask her about what it was like to see Tamlin and Carrick again. Hadn’t been able to assuage the panic that’d filled her face when we ran away from them. 

She sighed. “Less than par.” The words were mumbled into my chest. “Wish I could’ve done something more than just trip them in that hallway.”

“Yeah about that,” I tilted her head up to meet my gaze and she was already smiling. “You controlled the water.”

“I know.” The corners of Keorah’s eyes crinkled as she laughed. “I have no idea how or what I did, but I did it.”

“So someone in that tangled family history of yours is from the summer court,” I mused. “And maybe if you can conjure water…”

“Then I could freeze it.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s a long shot. But yes, maybe if we’re in another life or death situation we can test it out.”

“Let’s please not be in that anytime soon,” I said. “I rather like being alive.”

“Really? I thought this was all rather dull. It was getting a little boring, actually.”

“Oh, shut it smart-ass,” I tugged her back into my chest and she laughed once more, giving my bicep a squeeze. 

_Dinner’s ready if Keorah wants to join us_ , mum’s voice sounded at my mental shields and I looked down to my smiling mate.

“Are you ready to eat?” I murmured. She gave a slight nod and patted her back pocket. 

“Cass found the squares,” she said. “I’m just gonna stick to those for now. But I’ll go get you a plate, if you want.”

“I’m not an invalid.” I tugged Keorah off of me then pushed myself into a seating position. My shoulder ached, but my legs were sore and tired from misuse. I needed to be up, walking around, be useful and not some bed-ridden child—

“Let’s not and say we did,” Keorah hedged, already in front of me and preparing to push me back into bed. I stared down at her pointedly, eyes narrowed. Of course the fussing had to extend to her as well. 

“It’s just dinner, Keorah. I’m not going to bleed out over the table.”

“Hey, that’s not fair,” she said, her voice taking on a dark, guttural tone. “You don’t get to say that. You bled out. All over _me_.” She looked down to her shoes and swallowed hard. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m sorry.” I hadn’t realized how much it’d actually affected her. Though when I thought back to how I felt when it was her bleeding all over her cot in the townhouse sitting room, I shouldn’t have been surprised. That feeling of your mate being near death…it was awful. It was like you were there right with them facing death in the eyes. 

So I smiled and took Keorah’s hand in mind and brought it up to my mouth to press a kiss to the soft skin on the back of her hand. “I just want to see everyone. I just want to have a normal dinner for once. Even if I’m supposed to be an invalid.”

“Alright,” she murmured. She squeezed my hand and we made for the door. I slid into a stray pair of slippers and pulled a sweater over my head. We were in the hallway leading to the staircase when Keorah said, “Your mother’s going to kill me for letting you get out of bed.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll kill me first.” I winked at her before we descended. 

*

“What the hell are you doing out of bed?” 

It seemed as though tonight it was going to be dad doing the killing. His eyes shot daggers at me from where he sat at the dinner table next to mum, who looked just as murderous as he. I only rolled my eyes. 

“I’m fine,” I groaned, snapping my fingers to extend the table and add two extra chairs. Even uncle Cass was fuming. 

Keorah sat to Azriel’s right, where the extra chair had appeared, and told dad, “I swear I tried to push him back down, Rhys. Just couldn’t get through that thick skull of his.”

Chuckles sounded from around the table. I sat beside uncle Cass and unfolded a napkin onto my lap. But something was poking my side incessantly, almost painfully. I narrowed my eyes, and when I looked down, two grey stormy eyes stared back up at me past the mop of golden brown hair. Isra pouted, arms crossed, and brooded, “You promised you wouldn’t get hurt.”

I sighed, but reached down and scooped her into my lap anyway. “No, Zaza, I promised I wouldn’t let them take me again.”

“Same thing.” Her eyes drifted from mine. I only hugged her tiny frame into me, wishing I could go back to the days where we just had this to worry about. When it was just my family and my court and no threat of war and loss at the door. 

And Keorah. I wish I could’ve met Keorah in a time of peace. Learned to love her, to court her like we had all the time in the world, not like her father could storm through the door any day, defy our wards, and slaughter her right then and there. I wish she could love me, too. I wish she felt even an inkling of this unending tempest of adoration within me. Even if it was so incredibly selfish of me.

“I’ll try not to get hurt again,” I murmured. Thankfully the conversation kept flowing amongst the rest of my family if only for a sense of privacy, but I could feel Keorah’s gaze on us. “I can’t promise anything, but I will try.”

“Okay,” she sighed. “And can we _please_ have a tea party soon? Uncle Az keeps knocking over the china.”

Keorah pursed her lips to rein in her laughter but looked to the Illyrian warrior at her left who’s face remained impassive. The rest of the table also looked to him, and the shadow singer only said, “The chairs and table are very small and my wings are big.”

“I’d like to see you wearing the crown.” Amren pointed her fork with a piece of curried meat skewered at the end towards my uncle. “Isra, please tell me he wore the crown.”

“Of course he did. There are regulations to tea.” She huffed, then slid off of me to bounce back to her chair at the head of the table. Cassian burst into laughter but Azriel kept eating his food, unembarrassed. “You’re going to have a child soon, Cassian, it may be you wearing the crown shortly.”

Uncle Cassian looked to aunt Nesta who scoffed. “I sure as hell am not going to be playing tea if I’m pushing this thing out of my—”

“Alright,” mum said, cutting her sister a glare before facing the rest of us. I’d scooped the curried meat and other oven roasted vegetables onto my plate and was inhaling it while keeping an eye on Keorah. She’d made it through half of her square but she was already showing signs of distaste. Even though I wanted to shove the thing down her throat and get some fullness back into her cheeks, I held myself back only because my entire family was here and the last thing she needed was an audience. 

Mum cleared her throat again when the conversation picked up. This time she said, “We need to talk about today. And what our next move is.”

Conversation did not pick up. No, you could hear a mouse stuttering by in this blanketing silence. Amren turned to Keorah who was staring down at her plate, cheeks red. 

I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat and offered, “I’ll go to Illyria. Like I said I would.” I jutted my head to dad whose brows were furrowed. “I’ll call a meeting of the commanders in the north and call a war decree.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” Mor’s voice cut in from where she sat three chairs to my right. 

“Yes. I can do this. I’ll go with Keorah and whoever else feels like freezing their balls off for a week or so.”

“Watch your mouth,” mum remarked drily. 

“Sorry.” I grinned cheekily at her. She rolled her eyes and muttered something to dad who let out a bark of laughter.

Uncle Cass piped up, “I’ll go. I’m getting tired of these snobs anyway.”

“Whoa there,” aunt Nesta cut in, eyeing the two of us suspiciously, “you are not leaving me alone to deal with this demon spawn.”

“Then come with me. It’ll be fun. Just like old times.” Uncle Cass winked at Nesta and she rolled her eyes but gave the tiniest nod of her head. Between us, he gave me a clandestine thumbs up and there was a glint to his eyes that had mischief written all over it. 

“Cass, go with him to the meeting. If anything goes wrong, you’ll call us in right away to salvage it.”

“Yes boss.” My uncle gave a half salute to my parents who nodded then continued eating. Dad leaned over to Zaza and flicked her nose. But I was still snagged on those words. _Call us in right away to salvage it_. Like I was going to fuck it all up, like I already fucked everything else up so far. Was it my fault the High Lord and High Lady meeting had gone so wrong? Yes, I’d let my temper get the best of me, I made the wrong call but—

I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through it. I could do this. No matter what I thought of myself, no matter what my parents thought of me, I could do this. For her. 

*

Keorah

After the dishes had been washed and put away and Milo’s family went over the details of the course of the next few days while we’d be gone, most all went to their homes in the city and left only Isra, Mor, Azriel and Elain left who were drinking tea with Feyre and Rhys in the sitting room. Milo sat with them and spoke quietly to his mother but I was on the edge of the threshold. For some reason, I couldn’t sit in that living room. Not with the memories of waking up here and feeling one of the worst pains I’d ever felt while bleeding out on that cot, then having Milo’s limp, weak body bleeding out over me. I just needed some fresh air and to get out of here, to take my mind off of everything that’d happened today. 

An arm wrapped around my waist. My eyes opened to see Milo already at my side. “Ready to go?”

I blinked the fatigue from my eyes and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

He held my hand and braced himself to winnow but I pulled away from his grasp. “Can we walk instead? I just need to get outside.”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll get some clothes.”

He went fishing through the closet and threw me some boots and a thick fur-lined coat that fell to my knees. I donned the thing and felt like I was being embraced from all over by warmth. Milo pulled his coat on as well, shouted a quick goodbye to his family then we were out in the cold. 

It was a quiet night in the streets of Velaris. There was the odd couple out walking, talking quietly together and offering us a nod or a tip of their hats as we passed. The cold was brittle and bit at my fingertips but it felt nice with each cooling breath passing through my body. My mind wandered away from blood and arrows and politics and settled on the cool breeze and rushing waters of the Sidra. We were nearing the bustle and thrum of the city where we needed to pass through in order to reach the riverbank. 

The silence between Milo and I was growing, and even though it wasn’t awkward, I wanted to hear his voice. It was calming in a way I couldn’t describe. So I said, “For all that you say about your family, I really like them.”

I looked to Milo and he was smiling. “I don’t mean all the taunts. Yes, they get on my nerves and I want to chuck them into the Sidra every now and then, but they’re good people. My favourite people.”

“I see a lot of them in you.” 

He snorted. “Then I should definitely spend some time away from them.”

I shoved him with my shoulder and he laughed. I asked, “Do you have any friends in the city?”

He huffed out a sigh. “Not really. Most of my childhood was spent up in Illyria where I met Nya and Raph, the ones I told you about. When you spend eight years fighting and learning and growing with them it’s hard not to form a bond. We’ve been friends all these years and I haven’t really found anyone else willing to put up with me.” His eyes glowed violet even in the dim street lights. “Well, until I met you.” His smile mirrored mine. 

The city was growing closer and closer, alit with faelights and roaring fires in the streets where people were huddled around and vendors and music and light. Even from afar, the City of Starlight lived up to its name. Milo and I were quiet as we crossed into the heart of the city. 

There were people all around us walking through the markets. Merchants were calling out prices and products, people were laughing and shouting over each other, others were dancing—dancing in the streets to the heavy drum beats and screaming when they fell over. My jaw hung open as we kept pace through the crowds. 

“What is it?” Milo yelled over the noise around us. 

“This is nothing like I expected!” I called back to him. People told me of cruelty, cries of agony and utter snobbery. But this…this was _life_. A land and a people filled with light.

This is what I wanted for my people. 

After crossing through the various markets Milo described to me, we at last found ourselves at the doorstep to the artists’ quarters. 

It was beautiful. 

An array of colours and buildings all mismatched, all seemingly out of place when looking at them individually but as a whole…the sight was breathtaking. Musicians were in the streets, artwork was displayed in the windows, fabrics of all kinds being laid out on display for passers-by to touch and feel and be lured in to the shops behind. Fae of all kind milled about, all smiling, all happy. Not only a court that sustained itself, but a court that thrived. With happy denizens. The amount of work, passion and dedication it must’ve taken to pull this off after the war…

“Are you tired?” Milo asked, scanning my face. He had a small smile lining his lips. 

All I could do was shake my head. I was still in shock. 

“Then let me show you something.” He said. He took my hand and we were off. 

*

“What is this place?” My voice echoed off the walls of the grand building. All over the ceilings to the empty lobby was beautiful art, images of clouds and darkness, night skies and stars that seemed to be glowing ethereally. There were paintings of fae of all kinds—some I’d never even seen before—and grand marble pillars holding the entire structure up. The ceiling had to be at least forty feet high. The floors were clad in dark, navy carpet leading to one giant staircase that beheld a great dark oak door and two splitting staircases. The faelight chandeliers were extinguished, leaving the two of us and our muffled footsteps shuffling in the dark. 

“It’s the theatre.” Milo was quiet, as if he didn’t want to disturb the comforting peace and silence that surrounded us. “There are performances every day whether they be musicals, plays, concertos or dance shows…they all happen here.”

“It’s not open tonight?”

He shook his head with a small smile, then offered me his arm as we began up the stairs. “Nothing’s on right now, though I think there’s a concerto in a few days. Most of the time they use this place to practice. Every day somebody’s using that stage one way or another.” We were stopped before the doors. Milo placed his palm on the mantel and a lock shifted. He pulled open the door and ushered me into the darkness. 

The faelights awoke and beheld the beauty of the stage. 

There were balconies of marble all over draped in gorgeous red velvet and equipped with plush seats across the entirety of the theatre walls. On the floor were more seats, all packed and jammed together leaving only two alleys highlighted by the same red material in the rest of the room. They all led first to the orchestra pit, already filled with musical instruments like somebody had left them there only minutes ago, then the stage. 

It was beautiful. Those same paintings in the lobby decorated all around the walls framing the wooden palace. The red velvet curtains were drawn back to reveal a black backdrop and a single spotlight on the centre of the black floor. There was a padded silence as I stepped nearer to the front of the room. 

“It’s amazing,” I breathed, spinning to look back to the upper part of the room behind me. There was a small dark room at the top where lighting fixtures were controlled from, then more seats on either side of it, probably trying to pack as many people in here as they could possibly fit to witness the beauty of these arts. 

I wanted one. Back home, nestled in the village nearby… I wanted one just like this. 

“My family attends every once in a while to support the artists,” Milo said. He was walking down the alley across from me to the orchestral pit. “We have a box right up there,” he pointed to one on the left side right beside the stage, “but my favourite place to be is up there.” He pointed to the ceiling where the rafters were. I furrowed my brows. 

“There’s a staircase backstage that leads to the attic where there’s a tiny opening. You can see everything: the performers, the orchestra and the spectators.” He smiled shyly, staring down at his feet, hands braced on the back of a chair. I walked down one of the rows to meet him. “It’s wonderful to watch people watch art. Their faces filled with emotion and awe…” he shook his head then finally lifted his gaze to mine. “Never gets old.”

“I wish there was something like this back home.” I said quietly. “Mama would have loved it. And I think people would’ve paid to see her up there.”

There was a glint in Milo’s eyes when I looked to him. Then from behind me, a breeze blew by, and…a harp. There was a harp being lifted onto the stage on a phantom wind along with a stool until it was sitting right in the spotlight. My heart squeezed, and my fingers fidgeted on their own accord, aching to pluck at the strings. 

“I would pay to see you up there.” Milo said. 

My chest rose up and down rapidly and before I knew it I was heading for the stairs, climbing onto the stage and sitting before the mighty instrument. Before me the seats seemed to extend for miles in the blinding lights, and I imagined the theatre filled with people, quieting down as I walked onto the stage and took my seat. My fingers began moving. 

Mama brought a lot of sheet music from the Dawn Court. And when she got through that, she went back for more. There were piles in the back of her closet that she’d burned through on her quiet afternoons alone. I’d only been able to get through a small stack, only a dozen or so songs that truly stuck with me. Some were purely instrumental. Some were folklore, and some were accompanied by melodies and song that I’d learned by heart, that I hummed under my breath around the manor when I was bored to memorize every last lyric. My fingers couldn’t forget. They didn’t fail me now, not as they plucked at the strings, and the words came flooding back to me. 

 

_And I'll fall on my knees_

_Tell me how's the way to be?_

_Tell me how's the way to go?_

_Tell me all that I should know_

_And I'll fall on my knees_

_Tell me how's the way to go?_

_Tell me how's the way to be?_

_To evoke some empathy_

 

_Danger will follow me now_

_Everywhere I go_

_Angels will call on me_

_And take me to my home_

_Well this tired mind just wants to be led home_

_I don't see clearly_

_Can't feel nothing, oh_

_Can you hear me?_

_And I'll fall on my knees_

 

_Danger will follow me now_

_Everywhere I go_

_Angels will call on me_

_And take me to my home_

_Angels will follow me now_

_Lead me to my home_

_Angels will follow me now_

_Lead me to my home_

My heart was pounding, rushing through my ears. I sat there trying to catch my breath after delivering that final un-breaking note. The harp felt like an extension of myself, like I was born with it at my fingertips.

When I looked down to the front row where Milo had sat, he was standing, awe-struck, tears flowing down his face. 

Just like last time, all he could say was, “Again.”

And I obliged him.

* * *

I ran through almost a dozen songs by the time we were back out on the streets of Velaris. It was late at night, though it seemed like people moved from the streets into the various clubs and taverns scattered throughout the market squares with distant music and cheers echoing off the cobblestone streets. Milo and I walked silently arm in arm beneath the blanket of stars above us, our path only guided by the faint moonlight’s beams. The tips of my fingertips still ached from plucking at the strings for so long after being out of practice. Halfway through a song I thought they’d begun to bleed and had to wipe them against my pants.

“People would pay to see you.” Milo murmured. 

I smiled. He’d given me such praise after every single song, though asked me to sing the first one I’d performed over and over again. 

“I’m serious,” he said with a grin, “you’d sell out. They would be bargaining in the street trying to get tickets for you. There would be line-ups out the door to get good seats.”

“Fine,” I said, “you go to Illyria and win the war. I’ll stay behind and build my musical career.”

He shoved me lightly with his shoulder and I shoved him back. We turned onto the street lining the river bank and Milo’s towering estate came into view in the distance. 

“Never mind. I take it back, I want your voice all to myself.”

“What happened to sold out shows? You’re robbing me of my livelihood.”

“I’ll shower you in gold and jewels if that’s what it takes.”

“How selfish of you.”

He threw me a smirk, then reached over and flicked the tip of my nose. “Only when it comes to you, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for last chapter's cliff-hanger! Seeing you panic is the best feeling ever (sorry for being awful).   
> I just wrote one of my favourite scenes ever a few chapters ahead of this one and I seriously can't wait for you all to read it! I'll be posting the next chapter in a day or two.   
> Until then, I hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	17. Wings and Punches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah, Milo, Cassian and Nesta arrive at the Illyrian camp, and Milo is /not/ having it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: EXTREMELY GRAPHIC depiction of self-harm. Please be warned that it can be very disturbing, and I will put markers on the scene if you'd like to avoid it. It isn't crucial to the plot, only to Milo's character development.

Keorah

The first thing that hit me was the cold. It slammed into me with a gust of wind, followed by flurries that sent my braid flying behind me. Even in the bundle of my sweater and thick, fur-lined coat, the bone-deep chill was already settling onto me and creeping its way into my fleece boots. All around me was snow covered rock, tents centred around roaring fires and warriors milling around with their great big wings extended. In the distance males and females sparred without complaint or shouts of pain on mats surrounded by racks of equipment and weapons. This was the North. The true north, up in the Illyrian Steppes. The place Milo had lived for eight years, chucked straight into training the morning of his tenth birthday.

Milo stepped ahead of me, seemingly unbothered by the weather storming around us. Cassian trailed him, leaving Nesta and I to trail along behind them. She eyed the approaching man and his cohorts warily as they crept toward us with scowls on their faces. The leader at the front had a cold, brutal look to him, like he was born with ice in his veins. Living up here, I guess you’d need it. 

“Devlon,” Milo mused. I could hear the smirk in his voice. “How lovely to see you. It’s been too long.”

“Couldn’t say the same.” The words were clipped, short. Milo snorted.

“Really? That’s how you treat your former warrior in training?”

“That’s how he treats his High Lord, Milo. You’re not that special.” Cassian bit out. 

Devlon only looked back and forth between them bored already by the conversation. He snipped, “What do you want.”

Milo cleared his throat. “We’re staying here for a week. Clear whoever is staying in my father’s house and call a meeting of the commanders.”

Devlon’s brows nearly raised to his hairline. “On what grounds?”

“On the grounds of war.” The words were casual from his mouth. Nesta and I stepped forward until we were at their sides to see that Milo’s face was neutral and undisturbed. Cassian’s face was the commander of legions, one he probably wore often here. 

“Is that an order?”

I nearly balked at the dismissal of Milo’s authority. But he didn’t seem bothered at all. Only reached into a pocket on the inside of his jacket and pulled out an envelope stamped with the Night Court insignia. Devlon took it warily rom his hands and opened it slowly, his eyes reading over the words as if he had all the time in the world and we weren’t shivering so bad I had to clamp my teeth shut to hide their chattering. 

“Why hasn’t your father come himself?” Devlon wondered. “And who, pray tell, is that?”

His gloved finger was directed towards me and I resisted the urge to reach out and snap it. I forced my features into bored indifference and only fixed my eyes on Devlon’s, trying to pour all my anger into my piercing glare. 

Milo gave a low, rumbling chuckle and stepped closer to the war-lord. “Your High Lord is growing rather tired of dealing with you after all these years and sent me in his stead. He and your High Lady send their _regards_ ,” he spat the word. I’d never seen Milo like this, his hair unbound and blown back by the wind to reveal the fire burning in his eyes, using the voice of a High Lord—one who delighted in pain, in making others tremble in his wake. “And as for her,” Milo leaned in close to Devlon, so close that those behind him set their hands on the pommels of their swords. Even Cassian was swaying on his feet, looking almost imperceptibly wary between the two. “You do not touch her. You do not even so much as look at her wrong, because if you do, you will find yourself without eyes. Or without a hand.” 

A shiver travelled down my spine. 

“And once Keorah, heiress to the Spring Court, is done with you, I promise you’ll regret the day you were born.”

The warriors behind Devlon looked me up and down, assessing me, taking in the doll of the Spring Court dressed in Illyrian leathers alongside of Night Court nobles. The doubt in their eyes had me offering them a small, taunting smile as I sent a flame dancing between my fingertips so quickly it was there and gone in a breath. _That_ had several of their eyes widening. I just kept that smile on my face until their gazes drifted back to Milo. 

“You lot get settled in the house,” Milo said to the three of us, the first words he’d spoken directly towards me throughout the entirety of this conversation. His eyes were softer than before as they met mine, and he gave me a wink. “Devlon, I’d like to inspect, if you don’t mind.”

Devlon swallowed hard and gave a stiff nod. “This way.”

They were off, leaving the three of us shuffling towards a grey building on the outskirts of the camp. 

“That was less than pleasant,” Nesta said over the sound of the whistling wind. I snorted. 

Cassian drawled, “Devlon hates us the least. Compared to what I’ve seen further north, the brawls I’ve had with other war-lords would make that debacle seem like a tea party with Isra.”

 

Milo

“The girls are training before chores, like I confirmed with Cassian only a month ago.” Devlon’s hand waved to the two females sparring in the ring before us, more of them surrounding and watching as steel clashed and they danced back and forth with each other. The male sitting in the corner and his arms crossed and was overlooking with a bored expression on his face, as many of my legion commanders did during training. Even when we were bloody and broken on the floor, they would only shrug and call whoever was next. 

I hated this place. With every fibre of my being, I hated it. 

“And how has their progress been?”

Devlon’s eyes slid to mine. “Pathetic.”

The females nearby, if they heard, hid their reactions. Wise, on their behalf, but still I wanted to rip Devlon’s head off. 

“They seem like fine warriors to me.” My chin jutted to the two females before us moving so fast my eyes could barely keep up with them. “Do you doubt your commanders abilities to train?”

“I doubt _their_ competence to learn.” Devlon spat. 

At that, one of the females in the ring, dark haired and brown eyed, faltered in her steps and was then ground into the ring with a final blow. A trail of blood leaked from her nose, and two girls stepped up to heft the female over their shoulders and headed off towards the infirmary. Devlon let out an unamused huff and continued along over to the males. I gave a nod to the group of females, who bowed their heads in return, before heading to where Devlon stood. 

“Another foul comment out of you and I will mist you on the spot.” I said lowly so the males wouldn’t hear. Devlon rolled his eyes. 

“The Rite is in a few weeks and it will be a good one, as always.” He said it with pride as he took in the brutes duking it out before us. Not nearly as swift or fast as the females, but doubled in strength and size. 

“How exciting.” 

My lack of enthusiasm made Devlon cringe. 

I remembered when I took the Rite, how I’d clawed my way to Nya and Raph across that mountain until we’d slain our way to the top. Every person that’d spat words at us, every male that tried to belittle Raph for his sexuality or Nya for being a girl found themselves dead once we reached the top and touched the obelisk. And once it was over, once we’d finally been declared warriors, I left that camp and never looked back. Hadn’t been back until a few years later when it was demanded of me by dad after weeks of arguing. Even when I met with Nya and Raph it was on the outskirts of Illyria, nowhere near here. 

“Well, you’ve seen the camp. It’s up to standards.” Devlon turned to face me, but I stood watching the two warriors before me, unwilling to meet his gaze. “Now it’s my turn to ask questions.”

I smirked. “What’s on your mind, Devlon?”

He didn’t bite back his sneer. “What the hell have you and your family done to have war knocking at our door so soon after Hybern?”

My eyes slid to meet the war-lord’s. I was used to his remarks and jabs at my family and I. But it truly did take every ounce of patience and self-control within me not to reach out and snap his neck. 

“The Spring Court is acting up again and we need to put it in its place.”

Devlon said nothing, then let out a laugh. 

I didn’t think I ever heard such a sound from the male. But he laughed, then said, “And I bet my wings it has everything to do with that blonde plaything you brought today.” 

I was shaking with restraint. Devlon’s smirk broadened. 

“Did you _finally_ accept somebody’s advances, Milo? Or did you go crying again to the nearest—”

Then my hands really were on his throat.

So quickly I didn’t even have time to process it, Devlon was on the ground, slammed there so hard the rock beneath us rumbled. I was panting hard in his face, my fingers clutching his windpipe, resisting every instinct within me screaming to cut his airway off completely. Around us, cries of protest sounded, but I let a solid wall of air block off anyone around us. 

Devlon was smiling. Even if he was clawing at my hands, he was smiling. He choked out, “You’re still the same boy even all these years later.”

I unleashed an unearthly, beastly growl. 

He choked, blood forming at his lips, then said, “They… will never agree… to it.”

My fingers loosened. For a second, they loosened, and Devlon ripped himself from my grasp, coughing and spluttering as he crawled away. Slowly I stood, keeping my eyes trained on the male before me. 

“What do you mean?” The words were a low rumble. 

Devlon laughed again. “I’m guessing you stole the girl from her home and Tamlin wants her back.” 

I said nothing, which only confirmed his assumption. Devlon’s eyes were bright as he snarled, “The other lords won’t care. They will not risk their troops lives over some female. Whoever she is and whatever she’s done or has been done to her…” Devlon shook his head. “You’re running a fool’s errand.”

Warriors were banging at the barrier, shouting at the top of their lungs, ready to rip me apart for what I did to their leader. But I was still lost in his words and what they meant. 

“I’ll call the meeting, Milonius, but you’ll see very quickly that I’m right.”

I couldn’t listen to this bullshit for a second longer without wanting to pummel the guy’s face in. So I let the barrier drop and winnowed away until I found myself on the cabin’s doorstep deep in the Illyrian wood. I burst through the door, stumbling, vision still blinded by the searing anger that pulsed through me like liquid fire. I didn’t remember making it all the way to the bedroom. But when I crawled into the bed and pulled the covers over my head, and the tears began to fall, I didn’t let them stop. Not at I pictured _his_ face. _His_ hands. The ones I’d seen over and over again in my nightmares for the last forty years, the ones I’d only dared draw when I had a feasible explanation behind them. 

I was shaking. I couldn’t stop it as it resonated through my hands, tremoring up my body into my chest until everything within felt like it was collapsing in on itself. I was an earthquake. My fault lines trembled, quivering under the destruction my mind was wreaking upon my body. 

Before I knew it I was ripping the sheets off of myself and storming to the washroom. As the tears flowed endlessly down my cheeks they mirrored the stream of water flooding the porcelain tub. My knuckles were white clenched against the tub’s edge, and once it was filled, I turned off the flow. 

I stared down at myself as the glamour disappeared. 

_** *TRIGGER WARNING UNTIL KEORAH'S POV* ** _

Up and down my torso, my biceps and my chest, thick lines appeared, some still red and swollen from my most recent session, others faded and white. Once I was fully naked, I stared down at my legs and thighs. They looked worse than a butchers cutting board at the Palace of Salt and Bone. 

Yet even after staring down at the ugliness of my insanity, I climbed into the tub anyways. In the eerie silence of the cabin with the wind whistling through the rustle of the trees, the only sound to be heard was the droplets of water with each painful movement of my body. I drew my knife from the pocket between the worlds, unsheathed it, then did as I always did. 

I stared down at the tattoos lining both of my forearms. I stared at them, over and over, thinking that if the people who represented them were here, they’d be yelling at me. Begging me to stop. To take a breath, to talk to them, to try and move past this momentary sense of hopelessness. If they were here, they would tell me they loved me. That they hated seeing me in such pain. 

But I’m here because I failed them in one way or another. My parents, who I failed time and time again for not being a good enough High Lord, a good enough Illyrian, a promising enough son to take their place. For being lazy. Stupid. Temperamental. 

And Keorah. I’d wrecked her chances at being exempted during that High Lord meeting, I didn’t stay and protect her when her father nearly beat her to death. I couldn’t take care of her in the lowest point of her life. And now I wouldn’t be able to get the army we needed to fight for her safety. 

I am a fuck up. And I deserved this. 

The most daunting part was making the first cut. Deciding which area you want to obliterate, then where to start, how deep and how big you want to make it. The first one is always the toughest because it hurts the most. It makes you think, why the fuck am I doing this to myself? But then comes the second. Then the third. And soon enough your body gets so used to the pain that it doesn’t feel it as badly anymore. The endorphins rush to your head, and you get so fucking high that nothing else in the world matters. Only you, your blade and your tarnished flesh. 

I gripped the knife in my right hand and squeezed my thigh with the other to pull the skin taut. I clenched my eyes closed, and of its own accord my hand went swiping, the blade along with it, sending a lightning hot tang of pain shooting up my leg. 

But it was over in a second. 

I was breathing hard, letting out strangled sobs, but still my knife dug back into my thigh. Over and over, until the blood was running down my hands and legs staining the bathwater pink. 

Afterwards was the worst part. When you bandaged yourself up and thought to yourself that you’re disgusting. That nobody is this screwed up. That this time is the last time, that you’ll never do it again. 

But you know you will. Because there’s an ugly part of you, that toxic, parasitic part of your heart that loves it. It’s addicted to the rush and the high, the feeling you get after a good session. The one that whispers to you, you’ll never be rid of me. 

The one that forces you to believe it.

 

Keorah

“Again.”

Sighing, I raised my taped fists and stepped in swiftly once more to deliver a one-two punch then drew back, fists still raised, high enough to cover my jaw but low enough to protect my abdomen as Mama taught me. Cassian scanned my stance one more and gave a single approving nod of his head. The two black leather pads he’d dragged out from the shed on the outskirt of the ring were unwavering before me.

“Good. Right kick.”

My body moved on its own, feet stepping across to move into position then rotating my hips until the top of my foot slammed into the mat with a satisfying slap. Cassian let out a swoosh of breath. 

“You may have lost muscle but you did _not_ lose speed,” he said with a chuckle. “Any quicker and you would’ve been bruising me up, Keo.”

“Sorry,” I said with a shrug and a small smirk, “can’t help it.”

“That’s good. Means I have less work to do than I thought.”

I let out a relieved sigh, but Cassian only raised his brows. “That does not mean you are off the hook, missy. You’re going to be really wishing that I hadn’t raised the pads in time by the time we’re done here.”

And he was not wrong. 

We’d arrived in Illyria shortly after dawn. It was nearly midday by the time I was sprawled out against the private ring behind Rhys’s house, chest heaving up and down with laboured breaths and my heart beating so fast I thought it was going to give out on me. Cassian took one look at me and laughed. 

I mumbled a few incoherent curse words which only made him laugh harder. Hand trembling, I raised it to send him a vulgar gesture. 

My body hadn’t been pushed so hard in nearly a month. Running, push-ups, lunges, crunches, every exercise I’d ever known and some I never even thought of. Usually I would’ve been able to keep up with this, I would’ve relished in the feeling of my muscles being strained to the point of feeling like jelly. Now, after the neglect my body went through, even opening my eyes seemed like too difficult a task, when before I would’ve bounced back up and asked for more. 

“Today was just strength and stamina as well as reinforcement of your core. Tomorrow we’ll work more on hand to hand combat and sword wielding as well as what we did today but now to…this extent.”

I opened one eye to shoot him a glare. The warrior smiled down at me, hair loosened from where it’d been previously tied back by a leather band. Behind him the clouds were a swirling tempest of white and grey leaving no room for the sun to even peek out. Cassian settled himself beside me, extending his feet straight out in front of him, then leaned forward to touch his toes. 

“Stretch. It’ll help with the soreness and prevent injury.”

Like every other command he’d given me today, I obliged. I hauled myself up and leaned forward, wanting to collapse as I did so. A snort sounded from behind me. 

“Does…” I trailed off, trying to track my thoughts. “Do warriors do this every day?”

“It depends,” he said, folding one leg in and reaching out to the other. I mirrored his movements. “In training we do a mixture of exercises. Sometimes we’re in the air or we’re mastering different weapons like a bow and arrow, but usually we fit exercise into every session we can to make us faster, stronger than the others.”

“So it’s really cut-throat then.”

He nodded gravely. “There are some who don’t make it out alive. Some that drop from mere exhaustion or give in, and are then shunned by their families. Then when the Rite comes along, all bets are off. Warriors who had it in for each other are able to slaughter one another and settle feuds and debts once and for all.”

“The Rite?”

“It’s when the warriors reach maturity and feel they’re ready to advance from novice to true warrior. They’re sent into the mountains with wigs bound, no weapons, no food, no siphons, no magic allowed, only the clothes on their backs. Everyone is dropped off at different locations and the only goal is to reach the top and touch the obelisk. That’s when you’re inducted as an Illyrian warrior.” Cassian began rolling his neck. I tilted my head to the side and winced at the knots there. 

“What happens after that?”

Cassian shrugged. “You can stay there and continue training, they’ll put you in rank with the others. Build a family, do whatever you please. Most stay in the mountains because it’s the only home they’ve ever known. Select few leave Illyria.”

“Like you and Azriel and Rhys.” He nodded. “And Milo, I guess.” Another nod. 

“Do you think it was worth it?”

Cassian snorted. “Of course. They are my people and those are our traditions. They taught me everything I needed to know on the battlefield and I wouldn’t be where I am today without my time spent there. I’m Illyrian through and through, and I upkeep every bit of training I was taught. But once you’re out the choice is really up to you. Rhys is out at the sparring pads once, maybe twice a week if his job allows him. Azriel maybe a few more.” He switched directions of his neck rotations. “I’m there every day. Twice, if I can. But that’s because I’m a bit obsessive. Physical exercise is what helps me cope.”

An opening. That’s what he was giving me, to talk to somebody other than Milo about the toxicity in my head. From the open, understanding look on Cassian’s face, I trusted him not to judge me. I trusted that if I was to say nothing, he wouldn’t judge me either. 

“I don’t know why I can’t eat.” I said the words quietly. Cassian lifted his arm above his head and pulled backwards on his elbow and I followed suit. “At first it was because I physically couldn’t, you know? Back in that manor I was so weak and lonely and… I’d already given up. I thought maybe if I didn’t eat it would just speed up the process. The hunger pains, though, were just a form of sick, twisted torture for myself. I felt like I deserved it.” I shook my head then switched arms when he did.

Cassian’s face was solemn but he nodded with understanding. “And now?”

“Now I want to get better. I want to get stronger. But even just thinking about food I get nauseous. I’d deprived my system for so long that it’s not used to what it could handle before. Those bars, though, they’re really helping. I haven’t felt this good in a while.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Keo.” He reached out his fist to me and I stared at it, confused. 

“Huh?”

“What do you mean, huh?” He said, then wiggled his fist. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.”

“It’s a fist bump. You know.” He made a fist with his other hand and knocked the two together. “Like a handshake.”

“Whatever you say, Cass.” But nonetheless, I reached out my fist, and he bumped it with his own, a wicked grin on his face. 

As I stood and made for the door, Cassian called, “Go shower, runt! You’re making my eyes water!”

I offered him a vulgar gesture over my shoulder yet headed to the washroom anyways after smelling my pits and nearly gagging. Illyrian leathers did _not_ breathe.

*

Milo wasn’t in our room as I entered it, hair still wet wrapped in only my towel. It was undisputed that of the two rooms we would be sharing one while Nesta and Cassian would take the other. Cassian had made a comment under his breath I didn’t quite hear but still incited Milo to elbow him in the stomach. 

With no other plans for the day and my only friend here missing, I decided to change into a pair of fleece leggings and Milo’s sweater—which dwarfed my frame but wrapped me in his scent and warmth—and settle in for a nice, long afternoon read with the book I brought. I was nearly a hundred pages in when footsteps thundered through the household and up the stairs. My body reacted on its own, bolting upright and scanning the room for where I’d left my dagger. Cassian and Nesta said they’d be out in the nearby village for the afternoon, so whoever was in this house making that kind of raucous definitely wasn’t them. 

“Oh, Milo!” A female voice drawled before slamming the door open so hard it let out a loud, harsh noise as it his the wall. Two figures stepped in. 

One was a female, though I could only tell by her curves which were only slightly noticeable through the fighting leathers she wore and her more delicate facial structure. Her hair was buzzed short and sat in tight coils at the top of her head. It only further accented her sharp features and brown skin. Beneath the fierceness, beneath the sharpness and brute strength her look portrayed, the lines around her eyes seemed set in a permanent smile.

The other was male, and if I thought I’d known hulking brutes, they’d seemed like twigs next to the male before me. He was nearly a foot and a half taller than me, and probably thrice as wide as me, but the warmth that lined his deeply-tanned face was enough to make that muscle seem much less intimidating. His black hair was cut short, and he ran a hand through it as he took in the sight of me.

“Well, you’re definitely not Milo.” The male said. 

I quirked a my brow at him, yet offered, “No. He’s not here right now.” They remained silent, staring at me expectantly offering no reasoning as to why they were here so I said, “I’m Keorah.”

It was the female’s turn to quirk a brow at me. Her arms were crossed, seeming completely defensive at my mere presence. “How do you know Milo?”

“Nya,” the male grumbled under his breath. 

Nya as in Nyana and Raph. Milo’s best friends. If they were anything like him, then I was in for a long one. 

Raph shot me an apologetic look, but I ignored him. 

“I’ve been living with him the past few days.”

“Living with him?” She pressed. 

I only nodded my head. 

“And now why are you here?” 

Raphael rolled his eyes like he’d been through this many times before. 

I snorted. “Why am I being interrogated by you?”

“Because Milo is our friend. I want to know what business you have with him and if you pose a threat.”

“Threat?” I said. No, she wasn’t going to bust in here and talk down to me like this. “ _Threat_? How do I know you’re not the threat, eh? You stomped into this house and nearly knocked the door off its hinges. If anybody is being threatening, it’s you and your violence. Now tell me what the hell you want from me.”

Nya held my piercing glare and mirrored it with her own. Then it melted into a…smile.

She held out her hand. “Nyana. A life-long friend of Milo’s. You are not who I thought you were, Lady of Spring.”

My brows raised incredulously, ignoring her hand. She dropped it with an eye roll, and I said, “What?”

“I thought you would be demure, calm, quiet. But apparently there really is a beast under there.” She curled her fingers into claws and let out a growl before striding past me and plopping onto the chair near the clothing armoire. “So where is the man of the hour?”

Instead of answering her I turned to the male at the door. “Can you please tell me what’s going on?”

“She was messing with you. Milo told us about you after you moved in during your stay at the house of wind.” He extended his hand this time. It was practically the size of my abdomen. “Raphael.”

I shook his calloused hand and he offered me a warm smile. My gaze shifted between the two. This was who Milo spent his childhood with? Whom he considered his best friends?

“What?” Nya’s face was beaming. She looked at me like a cat who’d just spotted a mouse. 

I only said, “You are not what I expected.”

“She’s usually polite.” Raph said with another glare towards Nyana. “ _Usually_.”

“Oh Raph, I’m just playing with her. Don’t get your knickers all twisted.”

Another deep sigh. This time I shared Nya’s smile. 

“What are you doing tonight, milady?” The female leaped from the bed and strolled casually towards me. She was just a bit taller than me, with lean hard muscle rippling beneath the leathers that hugged her skin. I’d never seen a female more toned and muscular than the one before me, which no doubt only attested to her skills as a warrior. 

“Milo seems to have left me to my own devices so I am all by my lonesome.” I drawled. He hadn’t bother telling me how long his meeting with Devlon would last, nor where he would be afterwards, so I guessed leaving with his friends wouldn’t be much of an issue. 

“Then we will get you properly introduced to the village. Change into some leathers.”

I looked down at what I was wearing. “Can’t I just go like this?”

Raph winced. “It would be better if you blended in a little.” 

“Fine.” I sighed. After rifling through the drawers, I found another pair of leathers and quickly slipped into them in the washroom. Once I was out, Nya grinned. 

“Much better.” She stepped forward to lace her arm through mine then began guiding me out into the hall. “I hope you like cards because that’s about all the excitement we get around here.”

I flashed her a saccharine smile. “I’m alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I updated sooner because I absolutely cannot wait to post these next few chapters I've just written. It's so lovely to know you're enjoying it!!  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> -Kat (tumblr: illyrianwingspans)


	18. Jigs and Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah and Milo have some fun at the Cauldron's Eddy. Maybe a little too much fun.

Keorah

The tavern was a flurry of noise and winged males and females wandering about, seated at round tables or booths near the back. The place was dimly lit by faelights, torches and candles, which must’ve been some sort of hazard to the drunkards late at night. And judging by the state of some of the people here, I was very surprised that this place was still standing and hadn’t already been burnt to the ground. Music was playing faintly and distantly in the background, yet it was mostly drowned out by the laughter and loud, gruff shouts of those around us. Nya and Raph knew their way around, though, and weaved through the crowd easily until we settled ourselves near the back at a smaller unoccupied table. Raph sighed as he leaned back and said, “I could really go for a few shots right now.”

Nya looked to me and wiggled her brows. I was between the both of them, nearly half their size, but their warmth and presence was comforting in the room packed with sweaty strangers. My companions wings were big, but the booth was large enough to accompany their size, the ends of them only brushed slightly against my arms.

I contemplated the idea. Last time I had hard liquor ended with me losing my virginity, but I was in a dark, dark place then. Now… I wasn’t out. I was still swimming in the deep end, trying to keep myself afloat, but I wasn’t drowning. Not like before. And this seemed like fun. Something I’d only really felt a select few times with Milo and Mama and Lucien, something that I never knew my being craved so badly. 

So I said, “Order a round.”

Raph’s hand squeezed my shoulder. “Atta girl.”

Nyana signalled to a nearby bar maiden and she strutted over. Black haired and dark eyed, her getup was obviously to entice males into ordering because her generous breasts were plumped and pushed up against her chest. She gave us her sweetest smile and purred, “What will it be, darlings?”

“Round of whiskey for us please,” Nya said.

Raph raised his brows and Nya only said, “Make that two. And two pitchers of beer with a deck of cards.”

“Coming right up.” The girl turned to Raphael, leaned over the table and winked. As she left, Nya burst out laughing and Raph only shook his head with a puckered grimace on his face. I looked between the two, confused. Obviously, I was missing something. 

“What is it?” I asked.

“Let’s just say breasts aren’t really my thing,” Raph scrunched his nose. “At least, not when they’re quite literally in your face like that.”

“What do you mean, Raph? You drank from a breast as a babe. Shouldn’t everyone have a natural aversion to them?” It seemed like no topic was off the table for this pair. And I was definitely in for a long, wild night. 

Raph replied, “Backsides are definitely more attractive. Especially in tight pants.”

“So you can see the bulge in the front?”

Raph pointed to Nya with a smile. “The tighter the better.”

Yes. Milo did mention at some point that Raph preferred males. The two of them laughed and I found myself joining with them naturally. 

Then the bar maiden was back, shot glasses and tankards a plenty on her black round serving try held high above her head. She lowered it to our table and deposited our drinks and cards before scurrying off to the next group. Distantly, the music picked up, and I squinted through the smoke of cigars to see that a band had taken the stage. The music was upbeat and infectious, with fiddles and drums. Feet began to stomp and suddenly people had gathered in the centre of the room to dance. 

I looked down at the two cylinders of liquor below me, then before I knew it I was bringing the first to my lips. I downed it, tilting my head back, the liquid burning my throat with breathing tongues of flame as it traveled down to warm my stomach. Before I could wince I grabbed the other and tipped it back as well then slammed it down, letting out a little screech as my throat sang with the tang of alcohol. 

Nya and Raph let out surprised roars of laughter and I joined in with them. Then the cards came out, the tankards were being drained, refilled, and drained again, until the night was swimming in and out of focus. But Nya, Raph and I couldn’t stop laughing, talking, cheering and poking jabs at each other—by the time we were out on the floor dancing along with everyone else, and my heart was flying in my chest, it felt as though I’d known them all these years. 

 

Milo

I touched down in the kitchen. Aunt Nesta and Uncle Cassian didn’t even look up from their plates as they continued eating. The third seat remained unoccupied, and my brows furrowed. It wasn’t late. Unless Cassian had really ran her dry during training today, she should’ve been awake.

“She in bed already?” I wondered, strolling past them and heading for the bannister. 

At that they did look up to where I was, confused looks on their faces as well. Nesta said, “We thought she was with you.”

I halted midstep. Where the hell could she have gone? She didn’t know her way around here. Unless—

Unless somebody had came in despite the wards, unless she was already thousands of miles away south back into her world of misery—

“Don’t do that,” Cassian said. “She’s here somewhere. Don’t overthink it.”

“Keorah?” I called, storming up the stairs. The bathroom was unoccupied and after a quick scan I saw that our bedroom was empty as well. The sheets were ruffled, which meant she must’ve been here at some point, but then I looked on the side desk to see a piece of stationary and a pen. My feet were already moving. 

_We’ll return her in good condition._

_Nya_

I rolled my eyes, but the beating in my chest slowed nonetheless. She was just with Nya and Raph. Before I knew it, I was pivoting on my heel and heading for the stairs. Gods, she was probably being tortured by the pair of them. The worst part was I knew exactly where they’d taken her, and I knew exactly in which condition I’d find her. 

“Where is she?” Nesta asked as I stormed for the door. 

“Being held captive by my idiot friends.” Was all I replied as I pushed out onto the front doorstep then pushed off with a mighty flap of my wings toward Cauldron’s Eddy.

* * *

The tavern was nearly deafening as I walked through its front doors. The first thing that hit me was the sound, then the reek of cheap beer and hard liquor. The musicians on the stage were attacking their instruments with a ferocity only years of practice and focus could’ve honed. The drum beats echoed across the walls, and I weaved my way through the outskirts of the crowd to the centre of the room, only to crack a smile as I took in the sight that awaited me. 

There were Keorah and Raph dancing some sort of jig as others clapped to the drum beats to encourage them on. She was weaving through the air, moving her body as if she could bend the space around her. Raph was just as good, twirling, pulling, unfurling, lifting her—they were two beings acting as a whole. But the best part, the part that made my heart squeeze was the look on Keorah’s face. I’d never seen such a wondrous smile, one that made her eyes crinkle and her cheeks pinch together. 

It made me melt. 

The song picked up in tempo, and the fiddles were crashing together with an ascent so blindingly entrancing I was holding my breath. Keorah was spinning, spinning, spinning, and there were shouts across the room, whistling, people stomping their feet to the beat so hard that beer was being sloshed over the sides of people’s tankards. Then it all came to a halt, and Keorah stopped, and the crowd erupted into cries of joy and clapping. I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding as my hands clapped of their own accord. Raph beamed and Keorah gave a mock bow, her cheeks flushed and her chest panting. Raph pulled her into a hug and she squeezed him hard. The music settled down to something more quiet to give the exhausted dancers a moment of reprieve, and the rest of the crowd dispersed back to their tables. I was stalking toward my mate. 

“Milo!” Raph beamed and pulled me into a quick one armed embrace. I smiled and clapped him on the back once before pulling away and turning to Keorah. 

She was still wearing her leathers, which hugged her body tightly and accented all the right curves. The coy smile on her face was so enticing it drove something deep within me mad. I wanted to devour her whole right here, right now. 

“You’re late, batling,” she called, crooking her finger to beckon me towards her. My feet moved on their own accord. “You missed the show.”

“Oh, I saw all I needed to see,” I replied. Our bodies only a hair’s breadth apart, and when I leaned down, she tilted her head to meet my gaze. Her emerald eyes were wild and awake, full of colour and life, something I hadn’t seen in a while. Her breath of reeked of alcohol, and I smiled as I could already guess what kind of condition she’d be in tomorrow morning. 

“Is that right, now?” Her mouth curled into a smirk. 

I said, “A musician, singer, and dancer? I really am selfish for keeping you to myself.”

She laughed and pushed me off of her to head towards the bar. Nya sat there, grinning like a cat as she spoke to a handsome winged male while nursing a goblet of wine. There was a stumble to Keorah’s step, and the bar maiden behind the counter eyed her warily. 

“A round of your finest scotch, please.” Keorah asked. When the female only gave her a wary look, I swooped in. 

“What the lady said.” I pulled a gold mark from my pocket and the bar maiden gave a nod before reaching up to an old, brown bottle. She poured the amber liquid into two crystal glasses, far nicer than anything I’d drunk out of during my many nights here training, then slid them over the wooden counter. Keorah immediately pounded back a heavy gulp which had her grimacing, and I laughed. 

“Bad day or something?” I wondered. She snorted as she staggered to the back of the tavern. Other males were looking her up and down, which sent a pulse of lightning hot anger down my spine, so I caught up with her and slid my arm around her waist to hold her upright. She leaned into me, her body warm and flush against mine. 

“Your uncle ran me ragged.” Her words were near slurring, and her eyes were wide and unfocused. She definitely shouldn’t have been drinking any more, but when I tried to pull her glass away with my free hand, she swatted it away. As we neared the table Raph occupied, nursing a tankard of ale and speaking with a male over the side of the booth, Keorah stopped me. 

“You need to be more drunk.” The words were slurred. I knew she was out of it, and I should just bring her home and get her hydrated, but I’d never seen her had such fun like moments before. I wanted her to enjoy herself even if it was under the influence. 

I curled a stray strand from her braid around her ear. “I can’t be drunk right now. Then who would take care of you?”

She lifted a finger and pointed to herself, then to me, then to herself, then shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. You should have fun. Let loose. Dance a little.” She swayed to the soft fiddle sound and I snorted. 

“I’m having lots of fun watching you do all those things. Now let’s have a seat before you topple over.”

She laughed yet turned and slid in beside Raph anyway who let out a shout upon her arrival and jostled her around. “There she is! And how are you fairing, milady?”

“Well, let me tell you, I’ll be fantastic when this stuff hits me,” she took another sip of her scotch and wrinkled her nose at the taste. She turned to me. “How the hell did we drink an entire bottle of this shit? It’s disgusting.”

“Because my father’s was better,” I mused. “Fine scotch in a place like this is piss compared to our collection.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Mr. Goldmarks.”

Raph let out a roar of laughter and I only took a sip from my glass. It truly was a disgrace to my taste buds, but I swallowed the vile liquid anyway, hating the way it burnt my throat. 

“You didn’t tell us you were coming,” Raph said. “Why on such short notice?”

I shrugged. “Matters not to be discussed here. I would’ve sent word if I had any more time.”

“You haven’t heard?” Keorah feigned offence. Raph shook his head. She cupped her hand over her mouth and mock whispered, “Somebody down south is not too happy with the Night Court.”

Raph rolled his eyes. “Nobody’s ever happy with the Night Court. Especially flower boy.”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” Keorah chuckled. “My father would roast you on a spit for that.”

“All to say,” I interjected, not wanting any sober ears listening in on us, “things aren’t the greatest right now. But let’s not think of that tonight, alright? Let’s have some fun.” With that, I downed the knuckle’s length amount of scotch with a grimace. 

“You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you in the ass.” Raph snickered. Keorah nodded along vehemently. 

“Who’s biting who in the ass?” Nya questioned as she slid in next to me. She gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Thanks for your heads up, by the way.”

I rolled my eyes. “And how was the male at the bar?”

“Milo, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell,” she shoved my shoulder with two fingers. The wink she gave though was answer enough. “This one, by the way, made me lose all my money.” She was pointing to Keorah who only shrugged. 

“Not my fault if you’re trash at cards.” 

“Strong words from such a tiny female.” Nya clicked. For a moment, Keorah’s gaze flickered as she looked down at herself. Nya had struck a nerve. 

But Keorah looked right back up at her and said, “I’ll fatten myself with the finest cuts of meat with all the gold I shagged from you.”

Nya only burst into laughter and lifted her drink to cheers with my mate. Apparently in my absence, they’d grown thick as thieves. I wouldn’t be able to separate them in the following days.

“Why so broodish, Milonius?” Keorah pouted. She jarred me from my thoughts with her teasing. “Something on your mind?”

I shook my head. I’d cleared up that _something_ this afternoon with that long soak in the tub. I could still picture the swirling red water when I emptied the drain. “Just tired is all.”

That wasn’t enough for her. I presumed after all the time we’d spent together these last few days she’d learned some of my mannerisms. She still looked at me warily. 

In the distance, the fiddle had picked up again. Like before, the same stomping, rhythmic beat sounded throughout the tavern and was easily picked up by the room with their claps and pounding of their feet against the worn wooden floors. Keorah looked to me with a devilish smile and began pushing me out of my bench. 

“What are you doing?” I demanded but she kept pushing until I was up on my feet. She grabbed my hand, and the feeling of her warm skin against mine shot sparks up my arms. No matter what, she never failed to bring me to my knees. Yet still, she didn’t answer me.

“Where are we going?” I shouted over the music. We were weaving through the crowds once more, and I heard her cough through the thicket of the cigarette smoke. Keorah was relentless though. She pushed and squeezed through winged males and females until I found myself back on the dance floor. Others were circling around each other, arm and arm rotating in one direction than the other, their feet moving of their own accord so swiftly it seemed as though they were floating across the space.

I was tugging her hand before she could drag me any further. “Absolutely not. I’m a shit dancer.”

“Nobody’s a shit dancer. You just need a good partner.” She winked then held her right hand out. “Left hand here,” she placed it in hers, “right hand here.” She set it on her waist, then rolled her eyes. “We’re going to have to get a little closer.” She tugged me towards her and our bodies were pressed together. That dim electricity humming in my arm before was thrumming all over my body now in every point of contact between us. I stared down at my mate and those emerald green eyes glinted with a light I wanted to draw over and over again. 

“Now, just follow my lead.” 

We were off. 

I didn’t know what the dance was or what the hell I was doing, but I was moving, practically stumbling trying to keep up with Keorah’s pace and the intricacy of her footsteps. Others around us were shouting and laughing and I found myself joining them, my heartbeat pounding as fast as the drums as we danced circles around the others. I’d never felt such energy and vivacity before until now. 

The thread between us was singing, screaming. Unbreakable as always, unnoticed by the female across from me as always. But I forgot those thoughts, forgot all the thoughts that were weighing me down just for a while as we danced. And danced. And danced. 

*

I supposed the combination of dancing and drinking didn’t quite agree with Keorah. 

We were outside the tavern in the freezing cold, knee-deep in snow, and I patted her back as she heaved up the alcohol she drank. She was muttering half-incoherent apologies the entire time, but the world was spinning for me so I could barely hear them. It was until my hand hit the snow that I realized I hadn’t been rubbing her back at all, and I burst into laughter as I fell over. 

One whiff of her bile had me next to her heaving as well. She was the one rubbing my back then, her laugh echoing across the village square. 

*

I didn’t dare attempt flying home. Not when everything seemed like it was swimming in my vision. Round after round of whiskey shots had rendered me completely and utterly fucked off my ass. 

Keorah and I winnowed onto the front step of the house. In the dead quiet of the night our hushed chuckles cut through the silence as I pushed open the door. We both stumbled into the entrance and I shut it quickly behind us. 

The lights were off and throughout the house was a blanket of silence pierced by our giggles while we tried to keep ourselves upright climbing the stairs. I missed a step and tripped, needing to catch myself on my hands on the step up from me. Keorah had to hold onto the banister to keep herself from bursting into whole-hearted laughter. 

We finally managed to make it up to the hallway when a booming voice demanded, “Where the hell have you two been?”

Uncle Cass had his arms crossed and glared at us, his wings splayed threateningly behind him. Our failed attempt at concealing our noises must’ve summoned him even from sleep. 

Keorah quieted at my side and I said as soberly as possible, “The Cauldron’s Eddy.”

Uncle Cass quirked a brow, leaned in closer to delicately flare his nostrils, then wrinkled his nose at the smell of us. “Get to bed. If you wake up Nesta, you deal with her.” He snarled the words. With a small smirk he added, “And don’t tell your parents.”

Keorah gave a nod and he was back in his room. We tiptoed to the door at the end of the hall and shuffled into the dark space. Once the door was closed behind us we collapsed into muffled hysterics. Even while drunk, I knew to keep quiet as to not face my aunt’s wrath. Once we finally composed ourselves, Keorah’s eyes locked onto mine, glowing even in the darkness. 

Every glorious inch of her was beautiful. But her eyes… I could stare into her eyes for the rest of eternity and feel completely accomplished with my existence. 

“You know what happened the last time we had scotch.” She said quietly. We stood a few feet apart, and she still wore her Illyrian leathers, though her braid had fallen out at some point during the night, allowing her river of blonde hair to cascade down her shoulders. 

My blood heated at the mention of that memory. It was foggy through the haze of alcohol, but I held onto whatever scraps of it I could remember. My feet padded across the floor as I closed the distance between us, managing to walk in a pretty decent straight line. I reached out to curl a piece of stray hair around her ear. I whispered, “Sorry, I can’t quite recall.” My hand moved to cup the back of her neck. “Care to remind me?”

One moment, her eyes were flickering across my face. The next, she reached up to cup my cheeks and pulled my mouth to meet hers. 

The kiss was blinding. A collision of stars, a crashing of galaxies—the sensation of her hands tugging me closer to her like an animal clawing at its prey set my blood on fire. Keorah’s mouth was warm and soft and delicate as rose petals, and with each brush of my lips against hers I wanted to escape into her and never leave, to just have this right here, right now, for the rest of my life. Her mouth opened to deepen the kiss, and I trailed my tongue along her lower lip. She groaned into my mouth and I slid my tongue into her mouth to gently caress hers. Every brush of our mouths, every contact between our two bodies was shredding me from the inside out.

I could truly die of this longing. This wanting, this coursing of emotions within me. 

My hands were dancing on her waist, and she was breathing so hard, gasping, both of her hands holding my neck, but I wanted more—I could feel her everywhere, she’s everything, but I needed more—

Her thighs brushed against mine and I nearly flinched in pain. I’d ignored it the rest of the night, but by now the bandages were probably bloody and raw. I swallowed hard and fought to think past it. Past the afternoon spent in the bathtub. Past what put me there.

My hands slid down her backside and I leaned down until my fingers were gripping the backs of her thighs. The movement broke the kiss and she groaned in protest, trying to pull me back up to her, but I just needed her against me, even if it hurt. I hoisted her up, and she wrapped her legs around my waist. My hands were hooked against her thighs and I needed her, I _needed_ her—

_“It’s alright,” he’d said. “It’s okay. Just relax.”_ That’s what he said. How the _fuck_ was I thinking of that now?

I pinned her against the wall so I could kiss her properly, down the soft skin of her neck, right below her ear where I knew she liked it. When she hitched out a breathy moan in my ear I smirked against her skin then trailed lower. 

But before I could get to what was waiting below her shirt, to what everything in me was screaming to reach, I stopped. 

All I could think of were those hands. _His_ hands. What they did, all those years ago… And what I’d done today. I tried to ignore the burning of my thighs. I tried to grit my teeth and bear it, but the pain was just a blatant reminder of what’d happened, what he did. Usually I could dismiss it, but being here in Illyria…even Keorah couldn’t distract me from that.

I was panting, trying to catch my breath. A honed warrior of fifty years—but she managed to take my breath away. This desire coursing through me…it was enough to wind me. 

And it was burning. God, the bond, the animalistic wanting in me felt like damning everything else and shredding those leathers off her body so I could claim her like I once did many nights ago. But we were both drunk. And my uncle and aunt were right down the hall. And I couldn’t stop thinking about what’d happen nearly forty years ago.

It was enough to make certain things…deflate. 

“What is it?” She panted. I could tell her speech was still slurry. Not to the point of being unable to discern what she was doing, like we nearly were the last time we did this, but enough for me to know that I couldn’t carry through with this. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “We can’t do this. Not right now, at least.”

She snorted, looking incredulous. “The entire world begs to differ.” She ground her hips into mine and I groaned, letting out a snarl. She was going to be the death of me. I set her down gently then took a safe, healthy step back. 

“What is it?” She said once again. I could tell she wanted to yell, but we both knew that Nesta’s wrath was the last thing we needed right now. 

I said as lowly and assertively as I could, “I want to do this. You don’t know how much. But not like this.”

She huffed out a sigh and pursed her lips. She was definitely not convinced. 

So I closed the distance between us and tilted her chin up to meet my gaze. Her emerald eyes shone even in the faint moonlight. I whispered, “I want this. I want you. But I’m not going to bed you when we’re both not sober, when we’re tired to the bone, and especially when we’re right down the hall from my family. Because when I fuck you, Keorah,” I breathed, leaning down so our lips were almost touching, “I want you to feel every single sensation. I want you to be aware of every touch, ever kiss, every stroke—and you’re going to scream so loud that we’ll need to be far, far away from anybody that shares my blood. Alright?” 

“Alright,” she huffed, then crossed her arms. She quirked one eyebrow at me. “But you can still be a gentleman and cuddle.”

I smiled and scooped her up into my arms. She let out a quiet laugh as I plopped her onto the bed and jumped in beside her. After peeling off our leathers until we were only in our undergarments, she crawled over and sank in next to me. My mind was still spinning a little, as I’m sure hers was too, but those thoughts I’d had sobered me up quick. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she sighed as her face nuzzled into my chest. Keorah whispered goodnight, and I murmured it back, but I was still staring up at the ceiling, unable to let go of those hands. 

His hands. The ones I drew, the ones that haunted me. The ones that drove me away from this place all those years ago. 

The ones of the person I swore to never face again if I could help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked the chapter! If you ask enough then I *might* update tomorrow night. I'm feeling pretty generous ;)  
> As always, hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat (illyrianwingspans tumblr)


	19. Lunges and Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hangovers are a bitch, but not as bad as Milo's unwanted reunion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, you convinced me... hope you like even more suspense ;)

Keorah

I was sore. All over. My head was pounding, but no matter how many times I told Cassian, he only barked at me to go harder. To run faster. To punch stronger. I rolled my eyes every single time, but that just incited him to wreak even more torture upon me. 

“Are you done?” I panted, spitting on the ground. My mouth was dry and spongy. My stomach rumbled despite the square I took this morning. I only had a few left, but it felt like they weren’t working anymore. I was hungry. So hungry.

“You’re the one that went out. You had fun, so now you pay the price.”

Another eye roll. 

He said, “Another 20 lunges. Each side.”

I sighed but extended my legs anyway into position. He’d been concentrating on my legs and core today, trying to strengthen my lower half before we started on my upper half. I hadn’t even touched a blade today—and likely wouldn’t. We’d been at it since a little after dawn, as per the time I promised I would meet him. Despite the fact that my head had been pounding and I just wanted to curl up into Milo’s warmth. 

Milo. My toes curled every time I thought of him and last night. 

I didn’t know where it came from. Just like that, I needed him, _wanted_ him. All the while I was pushing my body, carrying out Cassian’s tasks, my mind kept thinking back to it: it wasn’t the alcohol. It wasn’t because I needed him for my own benefit, like last time. No, I realized when we were pressed together, it was because I wanted him. I’ve wanted him for a while now. 

But he was older. And uncertain about me. And we were in the middle of a war, and I’d just lost Vesna and my father was going to tear Prythian apart—

It was all so inconvenient. Whatever Milo and I could have together…it would just be borrowed time. I knew it. I don’t know if he did…but he’d see it eventually. 

And I was well…I was me. Scared, and young, and untried and weak…a burden. I didn’t deserve him. Plus, if he saw what was underneath, it would scare him away.

“What is it?” Cassian asked. How he’d noticed my change of spirits, I don’t know. I shrugged. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

I shook my head. Definitely not. Seeking romantic advice from Milo’s uncle would be a little awkward. 

“Fine then. How about we talk about something else. Take your mind off of it.”

At that, I nodded my head. I was panting with each lower of my legs, my thighs barking in pain, but I gritted my teeth and kept my muscles clenched. 

“Your mother was the daughter of a Peregryn warrior.” He said the words softly. I nodded, then he said, “Did she have wings?”

My eyes flicked to Cassian’s wings, their sharp talons peeking over his shoulder where they sat folded against him. I shook my head and huffed, “I never saw them. She didn’t speak about them, and when I asked her she brushed it off.”

Cassian’s brows furrowed. “Strange.”

I shrugged. “I just assumed she didn’t have any.”

“Maybe, but it seems unlikely.” He frowned for a moment longer. I switched legs and began lowering anew. “Do you have wings?”

“Nope.” That, at least, I knew with certainty. “Never. I could grow some if I wanted, but I’ve never really felt the need to.”

“Why not?”

I smiled. “Some people like their two feet on the ground.”

Cassian laughed. “I couldn’t say the same.”

Finally the torture was over and I sighed. Cassian only extended his fist and I bumped it, as we did yesterday. “Good one, kid. Stretch. I’m gonna get a bite.”

I nodded and he was off, leaving me to extend my legs before me and reach out to touch my toes. It’s not that I was afraid of flying. If anything, it was the opposite—flying was amazing. The sensation awed me. When Milo and I took to the skies, I felt like the impossible could come true. But I could never see myself doing that on my own. Wouldn’t trust myself not to flop over and crash into a tree. Especially if I hadn’t been practicing since birth, as most Illyrians and Peregryns did. 

Mama would’ve loved flying. If there were wings on her back, I don’t think any of us could’ve held her down—no, she would’ve had her head in the skies at all times. It would be a mercy if she even attended dinners. 

I snorted at the thought, but my heart still ached. If only she could be here right now. For the first time in my life, I was having male trouble, and all I wanted was my best friend. My mother. I wanted her to hug me to her chest and tell me the Mother had a plan. That She knew what She was doing. That everything would turn out fine. 

Seems like the Mother’s plan involved ripping everyone that I loved away from me. Some plan. 

After another half hour of stretching out the soreness of my muscles and just taking a moment to lay on my back and take some deep, soul-cleansing breaths, I finally wandered back up to the house. Cassian and Nesta were nowhere to be seen, but underneath the lid of a covered saucer was a pot of warm oatmeal. Milk and brown sugar were laid on the table along with a pint of orange juice. With an empty kitchen and a growling stomach, I steeled my nerves and began scooping the porridge into a bowl. Topping it with a healthy amount of milk and sugar, I dug my spoon into the stuff and—before I could stop myself—buried the bite into my mouth. 

It was warm and sweet and creamy with a texture I’d missed dearly in the mornings. I sighed. And when that mouthful went down without any residing nausea, I took another. And another. In the meanwhile I was downing a glass of orange juice, and my taste buds exploded at the taste of the tangy, citrusy flavour. I’d been depriving myself of such richness, such delicacies for so long. But finally my body and—probably more importantly—my mind complied with what I craved. 

When soft footsteps thudded down the stairs behind me, I was already washing the dishes. As a guest in their house here it was the least I could do. I’d set aside a bowl for Milo anyway and was scrubbing away the remaining oats from the pot. 

There was an electric tension in the room. I could still feel the warmth of his mouth against mine. How wonderful his hardness felt against me, and how I wanted him everywhere. Even now, my blood began to heat, and something coiled in my gut at his nearness. 

“How in the hell did you even _wake_ this morning?” Milo’s voice was husky and gruff with sleep. I presumed the alcohol didn’t treat him well, and said as much. 

He snorted. “I thought I’d would’ve had to nurse you to life this morning after the amount of scotch you had.”

I rolled my eyes and set the pot down so I could face him. “You’re one to talk, Mr. I’m Half a Century Years-old. I thought by now you would’ve learned to handle your liquor.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not when you quite literally pour liquor down my throat. Twice.”

The corners of my mouth curled into a smile and he paused where he was at the bottom of the stairs. Like me, he’d donned Illyrian leathers, and his sculpted chest was highlighted by the tight brown fabric. He'd tied his hair back with a leather strap and only a few strands were left to frame his sharp features. He’d never tied his hair back before, but now that it was swept away from his face, all I wanted to do was capture him in my hands. 

That electricity was back. Something in my gut whispering, drawing me to him. 

But he was already on the move. 

He closed the distance between us with lazy, casual strides until he stood before me. All he did was reach his hand out to brush the tips of his fingers against my cheek. The touch was feather light and made me melt into his hand, which pressed into my face to cup my cheek. I closed my eyes at the contact and the warmth he held. 

“You ate?” He asked carefully, quietly. 

With a small, proud smile, I nodded. His face melted into a smile and he leaned down to press a kiss to my forehead. 

I wanted this. I wanted it so badly I was pretty sure it was going to kill me. But how to broach the subject, how to let myself be so vulnerable to somebody I hadn’t known for long…

I swallowed hard. I didn’t have to rush myself. I’ll do it when I’m ready. 

But we both knew that we didn’t have much time left. 

He said, “Are you up for some more training?”

I only smirked and flicked his nose with my finger. “Do your worst, batling.”

***

“I never asked you what Devlon said,” I wondered quietly. Milo’s mighty wings flapped against the cold breeze. It was a foggy, cloudy day in Illyria. We were only going a dozen miles west of camp where Milo knew few resided, and we’d have space enough to practice without being interrupted. Though Cassian had pushed me hard this morning, I was starting to feel restless. I was itching to let off some internal steam. 

I felt his shoulders shrug beneath my grasp. Though I knew he wouldn’t drop me, I still clung to him for dear life. “Nothing note-worthy. A thorn in my side, as always, but he’s gathering the other war-lords and camp leaders. The meeting is tomorrow.”

I snorted. “Thanks for telling me this time. And what should I expect of this?”

His gaze clouded over for a second. “The Illyrians are a very…how should I put it.”

“Backwards?”

“Yes.” He said. “They are a backwards people. They believe in their traditions, their values and morals with no room for improvement or progression. They used to clip females’ wings and keep them as housewives, only to breed and clean and cook. Wing clipping was banned a millennia ago but to this day Cassian is hunting down those who still practice it.”

I winced. The pain those females must’ve felt…

“Some of the camps have begun training the females, Devlon’s being the most successful. Nya was his prodigy when she was disguised as a male, but as soon as her true identity was revealed she was spit upon. It was awful to witness, but she could’ve been skinned alive. The fact that Devlon even let her continue training is a testament to her skill.”

Nya seemed like a lethal female. If her swordsmanship was as deadly as her unruly tongue, then I wouldn’t want to be the one at the end of her blade.

“All to say,” Milo said, “I don’t know how they will see you. Or treat you. They barely tolerate Cassian and I, hell, they barely even tolerate my father. So we’re going into this blind.”

“That’s comforting.”

He shot me a strained smile. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we’ll convince them. Believe me.”

I nodded, then held on tighter to him as we began to dip lower.

The clearing Milo flew us to was quiet. Sprawled in a land of ice, frost and snow, but beneath our heavy fur lined coats and thick boots, I didn’t feel the stabbing bite of the cold. The snow whistled along like willows of the wisp, snaking across the lattice ground like wraiths in water. 

As we touched upon the ground, I immediately missed his warmth and scent. Today’s session would probably be brutal because of the cold but necessary nonetheless. I’d started to feel exactly what we’d spoken those few days ago before Vesna was killed. The static, the itchy feeling in my skin. My power was a well within ready to erupt. 

“What would you like to work on today?” Milo queried. 

I shrugged. “Anything that’ll stop this noise.”

He snorted. “Alright. Just let it flow. See what _it_ wants to do. It has a mind of its own, so see what it’s thinking today.”

I nodded and closed my eyes. Delving down within that pit inside of me was always the hardest part, but once I was there everything else came easy. The golden, rose-kissed being within me sang a lullaby to the vessel it occupied then breathed itself into the world. My fingers tingled with the sensation. When I opened my eyes, all around us white lilacs bloomed despite the thick powdery snow and rock hard ground. Milo only smirked. 

“Flowers for your beloved?” He wondered with a saccharine smile. 

Right near his feet, poison ivy went shooting up. He jumped at the sight of the sprouting plant, and when realizing what it was, sprang away from it.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he grumbled under his breath as he went to sit beneath the canopy of a massive pine. 

“You’re just going to sit there?” I called. “While I do all the hard work?”

“For now.” He replied. “Somebody needs to coach you through mastering those water and ice powers. Can’t do that if I exhaust myself.”

I rolled my eyes. Today would be one of _those_ days, then.

But I did as he asked despite it. I tried to melt the ice then call that water to me. The hardest part was summoning it on its own without melting the snow first. And even once I did make a few droplets appear in my palms, freezing those or turning them into snowflakes turned to be a strenuous task. Sweat dampened my forehead despite the frigid air. We must’ve been here at least a handful of hours.

“Picture it in your head,” Milo said quietly once again. 

“You said that five times.” I snapped. He was at my side trying to murmur the commands to me gently. My patience was wearing thin. 

He pursed his lips. “Must I recreate our previous circumstances?” 

“What do you mean?”

One moment, a wicked smile danced on his face. The next he was engulfed in flames. 

I narrowed my eyes at first. What good would this do? Would a mere show of his powers inspire me to do better? Melt the snow around him only so I could create more?

But then the scent of burning flesh met my nose. Instantly panic bloomed in my bones, and when I looked to Milo’s face, it was twisted in agony. He was—

“ _MILO_!” I slammed him into the ground, trying to give him and his body as much contact with the cold as I could to extinguish those flames, but it only melted the snow beneath him in a sodden pool of soot-dirtied water. Now he was screaming, gasping for air. 

I willed my hands into ice. I had to save him, had to save him—

I didn’t need to melt the snow. No, not as everything within me bellowed at my powers to do something, and a wave of cold fresh water went slamming into Milo’s body. 

And once that water met his skin, I froze it.

Milo coughed. He coughed for about ten seconds until it evolved into a laugh and he was sitting up in the snow, his skin untouched, clothes un-smeared. Only moments before it was smelling of burnt skin, and the heat radiating off of him was enough to have my eyes tear up—

I looked down at my hands. They’d grasped his burning body. They should’ve been blistering with burns, but they remained unscathed. 

Milo smirked. “You’re not the only one who’s good with glamours.”

My mouth fell open in shock. The only words I could summon to roar were, “You _IDIOT_!”

He laughed as I tackled him again to the ground. He laughed and hugged my body to his chest despite my attempts to shove him away. Yet soon enough, I melted into him and gave into the laughter. He was an idiot, but his methods did prove effective. 

“Try to use it again.” He urged, helping me sit up where we were against the snow. I rolled my eyes yet lifted my hand to a nearby tree. I summoned the water first, coating the bark in the pattern I wanted, then froze it a moment later. Inscribed in icy writing were the letters F U. 

Milo’s laughter echoed through the clearing and fell back against him. The panic ebbed away from my body but my muscles still felt sore after being clenched. He rubbed his hands up and down my arms to try to heat me up. 

“You did good, angel,” he whispered in my ear. He pressed a kiss to my temple and I closed my eyes. I could stay here in this snow wonderland forever. 

The snow whistled through the tress. The sound was comforting, soothing, but another sound of soft padded footsteps broke through and Milo was instantly standing. He pulled me to my feet before I could even react and put me behind him. 

In the distance, heavily cloaked warriors with membranous wings jutting from their backs broke through into the clearing. They were mostly males, in fact they were all males. The lead one, with broad shoulders and a towering frame, held a reminiscent, sneering smile on his face. Milo’s entire being stilled. 

“Milo!” The voice called from across the expanse. “I didn’t know you were paying visit!”

Milo said nothing. My fingers trembled in the cold. Past the whistling wind, I could hear Milo’s rapid rapid breaths. Why was he panicking?

I stepped out from behind him and stood at his side. “What do you want?”

They were probably a dozen of them. They were armed to the teeth, carrying their great lengthy bows in their hands, probably out for a hunt. We’d scared off any animals in the vicinity so today’s catch wouldn’t be very fruitful. 

“We’re just on a hunt,” the male had a clean shaven face, but the lines of his features gleaned with malice and arrogance. “And we heard the little heir of Night came to say hello to his old friends, and we wanted to catch up.” He closed the distance between us with each casual, striding step. As he neared, I saw that he had a large scar down his face, almost like a crevice carving diagonally across from temple to jaw. 

Still, Milo said nothing. His mouth had parted, and his eyes were distant and shadowed. Obviously, something was dreadfully wrong. 

Put the male kept approaching, his gaze turning to me. “And whom may you be?”

“Don’t even fucking look at her,” the words tore from Milo’s throat all strangled and raw. The man looked him up and down and only let out a snort. Milo’s fists tightened at his sides, his knuckles almost as white as the snow beneath us. 

“Who are you?” I dared ask. The male turned his gaze to me despite Milo’s warning. He scanned me from head to toe, taking in every part of me like a hunter seizing up its prey. He licked his lips and I almost cringed. 

“Oris,” he supplied with a grin. When he reached out to shake my hand, I offered my own begrudgingly. His dwarfed mine in size, and he squeezed so hard I almost winced. Milo’s eyes were fixed only on Oris’s hands as they retreated and fell to his sides.

He seemed about our age, maybe a few years older, but the only thing my eyes could train on was the deeply scarred tissue running across his face. Even with fae healing magic, it’d left such a deep scar. I knew what it was like to bear those wounds. And for him not to be able to conceal it…it must’ve been awful. And only reminded me how that would be me soon enough if I were to return home.

Oris turned to Milo. The male stood a few feet away from us, and the rest of his pack stayed a healthy, extensive distance away from us, eyeing the three of us warily. I had no idea of the history between the two males but it definitely wasn’t good. And judging by that scar…

“And how have you been, Milonius?”

“Leave.” His voice was pure command, death incarnate. His face was shadowed by darkness as he loosened the damper on his power, and loosened his wings behind him with a snap. 

Oris laughed. “You think a few threats are going to scare me away?” He leaned in and pointed to the thick, jagged line running down his face. “You got me once, Milo. _Once_.” He jutted his chin to Milo who was trembling with restraint. “That’s _nothing_ compared to—”

“ _LEAVE_.” 

I flinched at the sound.

With a final smirk, Oris backed away and signalled for the rest of his group to push off. They left in a flurry of wings and wind, leaving only the two of us behind. 

Milo was shaking, but I couldn’t let go of Oris’s words. Milo did that to him? He’d scarred him for life. He’d brutalized him, leaving him to bear the weight of his wounds and weakness forever—how could he do that to somebody? More importantly, would he do it again? 

He doesn’t know what it’s like to bear these scars. To be shamed into hiding them. I had a mark almost twin to Oris’s on my own face. If Milo had a temper like Papa’s…could he one day do that to me?

“Let’s go.” His voice was cold and empty, and he extended his hand limply. 

“Who was that?”

“Let’s go.” He repeated. 

I shook my head, lip curling back into a snarl. “No. I want to know who that is, how you know him, and what the _hell_ you did to him.”

Milo’s face contorted with an anger so ugly I stumbled back a step. “What I did to him?” He cried. “What _I_ did to him?”

He was towering over me, his brows furrowed with rage and muscles clenched so hard the veins in his neck were bulging. His jaw was clenched tight. He seemed like a spitting image of Papa. My heart beat so fast, and my breaths were faltering, choking out of my body. He was going to—

When Milo saw the panic and sheer terror on my face, his features slackened with realization and he crumpled as the silver began lining my eyes. “Keorah. Keorah, no, I didn’t—”

“Take me back.” I demanded through the thickness of my throat. Those violet eyes had turned emerald for a moment, jet black hair blonde and golden as a spring afternoon. Milo could be volatile. Violent. But could he turn it on me?

I didn’t want to find out. 

“Keorah, _please_.” He begged, his voice guttered, but I didn’t care even as tears began spilling onto his cheeks. 

All I said was, “Take me back.”

Silently, he reached over and took my hand, then we were spinning and careening through the world. 

We arrived with a thud in the entrance of the Illyrian house. Nesta and Cassian were cooking dinner quietly, yet seemed to stiffen at the tension in the room. I went straight for the stairs, kicking off my boots as I went, but Milo just muttered, “I’m going to the cabin.” He went out into the brutal cold of the oncoming night, slammed the door, and took off with a flap of his wings. I didn’t look back as I pushed up the stairs and ran straight for our bedroom. Once the sobs and the tears claimed me, I did not fight them. I only pulled the sheets over my head and cocooned myself in the darkness that filled my very marrow, unable to shake away the image of Milo at the brink of the same fury that’d ravaged me for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed it! I'll be posting tomorrow and the day after because let's just say the next two chapters are...intense. Thank you so much for your continuous support, it really means the world to me! I'm so grateful you're liking it :)  
> As always, hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!


	20. Memories and Bathtubs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another meeting. Let's see if this one goes any better than the last. I mean, the last one ended with Milo impaled by an arrow. This one can't POSSIBLY be worse, right? RIGHT?!

Milo

The sun had set long before I got home. The house was quiet save for the demure crackling of the fire. Everyone had gone to bed at a reasonable hour, which left me to slump down at the kitchen table, head propped up by my hands. My head was pounding and my entire body ached. I pushed off the table and wandered to the back of the house and checked the food cellar. There, in the alcove just behind it, was a half empty bottle of scotch. It was cold to the touch as I padded back over to the kitchen and poured a knuckle’s length, then pounded it back. My hands were already pouring more before the heat even hit my stomach. 

“Rough day?” My father’s voice called quietly from behind me. I shrugged and slumped back into the chair. Dad stared at me contemplatively before descending the steps and heading over to pour himself a glass of his own. He sat in the chair next to me and raised his glass to gently tap it against mine. We both took a solemn, deep gulp. 

“I wasn’t good at it either.” Dad said with a grim shake of his head. Five hundred and some years old, yet the only sign that showed his age was his wisdom, and the tiniest furrows in his forehead. 

“What do you mean?”

“I was nearly worst in my class during training,” he said. “Every day, they’d work me to the bone, then pummel me if I didn’t succeed. And they loved it.” He snorted. “They loved seeing a High Lord’s son being weak and vulnerable, everything I shouldn’t have been. My friends trained me. Cassian tried so hard, but I was a weakling.”

I couldn’t imagine dad in that situation. Not with his wicked sense of snarky humour, his broad build and generous muscled figure. 

“But when I was fourteen or fifteen,” he added, his voice soft, “there was this one boy. He was one of the top of our classes, brutal with a sword, and cruel as hell. Time after time he’d sliced me open or beat me until I was heaving blood. One day he looked me right in the face and told me that I was a coward. That I didn’t belong.” Dad’s face turned dark and grim. “All I could remember was my heartbeat and the feel of his bones cracking beneath my fingers. I nearly killed him.”

A shudder went down my spine. I couldn’t imagine the feeling.

“I’m not telling you to be violent, Milo. Violence is an awful, brutal thing, one that only enables things like evil and darkness to fester. But in a place like this, that’s what people thrive on. They’ll use it against you until you are broken and bleeding on the ground. But day after day you just have to pick yourself up, and keep going. Because you’re not a coward. You are _not_ a coward.”

I blinked back the wetness in my eyes. If only he knew. If only I could tell him what was really happening. 

I lifted my gaze to meet his. “How do you do it? How did you keep going after everything?”

He swallowed hard as shadows danced in his eyes. “After my first war, after losing my family, after years of hard-won respect within my court, I thought I knew how to get past pain. Then Amarantha came and it was destruction all over again. I thought that time would be the last. It would be my great and terrible… _thing_ that obliterated me completely.” He closed his eyes. “But I fought. I fought for my friends, my brothers, my court. For my people. And when I met your mother, my mate…” he blinked rapidly and wiped his hand across his eyes. “I fought even harder. Because if I couldn’t fight for myself, if I didn’t value myself, then I could fight for them. And now look where I am today.” He smiled, reaching out to squeeze my shoulder. “I have you and your mother, my family, and finally some damned peace and quiet.”

The both of us laughed and distantly mum hailed down at us to keep our bloody voicesdown, which only made us laugh harder.

I blinked the memory from my mind. Before me, the war lords were speaking quietly amongst themselves. They hushed as they took in the three of us, Cassian, Keorah and I, dressed in simple finery. The war-lords were also dressed in plain tunics. I don’t think I’d even seen Devlon in anything but his leathers. 

Keorah was stone faced. She had been all morning, and all of last night, no matter how many times I tried to coax her into talking to me. She only turned away or shot me a deathly, cold glare that made me want to escape into my skin and never come out. Last night after I’d come home from the cabin and another afternoon of blade-induced pain, I’d found her curled in on herself in bed. Her eyes were wet and swollen from crying. She was asleep, I could tell by her even breath sounds, but I’d never hated myself more for knowing that I’d caused her that pain. If I could have just kept my feelings in line, or resorted to any other emotion but anger…

She’d looked at me like I was a monster. Like I was Tamlin. 

Something I’d never forget for the rest of my existence.

And Oris—no, I didn’t let myself think of Oris out of utter fear that I’d lose it completely.

Cassian only held the face of a fearless commander. Though he was the general of the Illyrian army, that title only truly came into play during war forsaken times. The rest of the time he was overseer, as he was now, and would only become commander should the forty three war-lords agree to go to battle. It was a stupid treaty signed ages ago that the Illyrians haven’t surrendered, and likely wouldn’t out of sheer stubbornness. It ensured the protection of the war-lord’s titles, made sure they weren’t persuaded by daemati to agree to a war decree. Most of the time they did so without question and the meeting was just a useless gathering for a unanimous vote. But today, with something as dicey as going to war with the Spring Court… We were going into this blind. What Devlon had told me three days ago wasn’t reassuring, though. 

A hush settled upon the war-lords. They all looked up at me from the seats with a bored expression. The council room was spacious, sparsely decorated, only a large wooden oak table and grey stone walls. Each Illyrian camp had one and was used only for meetings such as these. I took a calming breath and steeled my nerves. 

“Some of you may have heard of the events in the south.” I began, my voice projecting to the back of the room. Keorah stood to my right, looking out across the various tanned faces staring back at us. Cassian was to my left, here only to interject when needed and make sure everything ran smoothly. “The Spring Court has declared war on us as of a few days ago. We’re set to be fighting ten days from now Under the Mountain.”

“Why the hell is she here?” A gruff voice called out from the back of the room. I only narrowed my eyes in their direction, the damper on my power loosening to show them the darkness and shadows that danced around me. Only a fraction of the threat I posed. They said nothing else. 

“Tamlin has an army. That, we’re sure of. We don’t know numbers or let alone if any of them are magic wielders, but all we know is that they’re confident enough to set a time and place. They don’t need the element of surprise. Which means if we’re going to face them, we need everything we’ve got.”

“And if we ignore the threat?” Another voice called. I’d never met all of the war-lords, especially not all at once. The only way I could tell them apart was by the thickness of their Northern accents and the depth of color in their skin. 

“If we ignore the threat, Tamlin will invade your lands and start butchering innocents until he gets what he wants.” It was Keorah who refuted, her voice pure steel and ice. Her features were sharp and her lip was curled back in a snarl. 

“What does he want?” Devlon’s words were cocky. Smooth. Like he knew my answer would indeed be the deciding point of this meeting. 

I wanted to rip his tongue out. 

“Tamlin wants power. Control. To prove to the rest of Prythian that he can do as he pleases without repercussions. He feels like he’s been underestimated for too long, and he has bad blood with the Night Court. Tamlin wants revenge.”

Devlon rolled his eyes. “Enough with the dramatics, boy. The High Lord of Spring wants his daughter back.”

Murmurs scattered across the room and Cassian shifted beside me as their gazes turned to Keorah. To her credit, she remained impassive, staring down at them with her head held high. 

“Yes. Lady Keorah, heiress to the Spring Court, was found in a perilous situation and we brought her here against Tamlin’s wishes. She’s decided not to return and he isn’t pleased.”

Cassian winced. I shouldn’t have said anything. _Shit, shit, shit—_

“Give her back!” Somebody called. Other shouts began piling in until the entire room erupted into chaos. My heart was thundering in my chest. I should’ve just ignored Devlon, twisted the truth, anything—

“Enough.” Cassian’s voice boomed out across the gathered males who sneered. Devlon was sitting there, gleaming with smugness, and it took every ounce of restraint in me not to finish what I’d started the day I got here. 

“Tamlin and his court are a threat to the Night Court. He’ll decimate every last one of us if it truly pleases him. The girl was only a last-minute save we made after we found her in dreadful conditions wreaked upon her by her own people. She has nothing to do with the true purpose of this.” He didn’t technically lie. Only bent the truth, which wouldn’t really affect the laws of the treaty. 

But they weren’t changing their minds. 

“We’ve lost so many,” a gruff voice called from the left. Others silenced to hear what he was saying. “After Hybern, which we all gave so much to, many did not return. Wives turned widows. Children without fathers, or worse yet, orphans. And now barely a century later, you want us to give again?”

Cassian swallowed hard. “Yes.”

“I’ve made my decision already.” The man’s fist slammed on the table. “I vote no.”

Others chorused in until the entire room had their hands raised. It was unanimous. The entirety of the Illyrian army would not fight. 

My heart stopped in my chest. 

Devlon only beheld my awestruck expression with a cocky grin. 

Keorah’s face was hard. She didn’t look at me as she padded quietly out of the room. When I looked to Cassian, his face was helpless. We had no army. We had no power. 

And it was all my fault.

Without another word I stormed from the room in a wave of wrath that sent the entire building shaking. But it was me that was cracking, breaking beneath my flesh, crumbling until all was left was an empty vessel of skin and bone. 

* * *

Keorah was leaning against the grey stone building with a hand to her chest. She was hyperventilating, panicking. Anger be damned, I rushed to her and held her face in my hands. The cold bit at her face, turning her cheeks pink. There were tears in her eyes and they didn’t stop flowing even as I wiped them away. 

“Just breathe,” I said. Though I could really take my own advice at the moment, because my lungs were shoving down air so fast I felt like I was drowning. 

She choked on a sob and her eyes turned cold and piercing to me. “Why would you say that?”

I stilled against her. She tore my hands from her face and took a step back. 

“What?” I breathed. 

“Why the hell would you tell them that? Why tell them this entire spat is over me?” 

“Be—because that’s—” I stuttered over my words and stared at her, dumbfounded. 

She let out a mirthless laugh. “I am not enough to start a war over. You and I both have known this. For a while. _I’m not enough_.” She spat the words, then pointed an accusatory finger at me. “You shouldn’t have said anything. We had them for a second. I could see it in their faces. We could’ve actually made it if you hadn’t said anything.” She shook her head. “You had one job, Milo!”

Nothing else registered after that. My body felt so heavy. The grey fog took my mind again and I could feel myself walking, walking away from Keorah. She was yelling something but I couldn’t hear her. Not over the roaring echo in my ears. 

_I’m not enough I’m not enough I’m not enough_

Hands were tugging at my arm. I flinched, thinking back to his hands, but when I saw it was Keorah I tore away from her, then winnowed away.

 

Keorah

Cassian poured me a generous amount of bourbon. It burned and made me grimace as it ran down my throat. He refilled the glass when it was empty and my hands finally slowed their trembling.

“I sent word to Rhys,” he said quietly. Nesta was at the table, fingers clenched against the wood. She stared vacantly at her hands and didn’t speak a word. 

“What can he do?” I asked quietly. “Can he just…order them? Like he ordered you?”

Cassian sighed as he sat between Nesta and I and nursed his own drink. “It doesn’t work like that. There’s a treaty between the Illyrians and the Night Court. We can only use them in times of war if at least half of the war council members agree to offer their troops.”

My heart sunk. “And if we force them?”

Cassian shook his head. “The treaty’s magic won’t allow it. We can only take volunteer clans, which is time and resources we don’t have to go around convincing them.” He closed his eyes. “They’ve got us by the balls.”

I pursed my lips at the sight of Nesta wrapping her arm around Cassian. 

“Do you know where he could have gone?” Nesta asked quietly. 

The elephant in the room. Milo’s unoccupied chair. 

It’d been nearly five hours now with no response. Five hours of me sulking in our bedroom and soaking in the bath to try and calm my nerves. But every time I tried to communicate with him through the channel he’d used between our minds, he gave no response. There was a wall of onyx adamant on his side that wouldn’t be brought down, no matter how many times I tried. 

“I don’t know.” I breathed out. I was so mad at him. So mad. I let my anger get the best of me and unleashed it all upon him, completely undeservingly. To see his expression so broken, his eyes so hopeless… I knew right then and there I’d done some irreparable damage. And I regretted it with the entirety of my being moments after the words left my mouth. 

The image of his devastation was burned into my eyelids. I couldn’t think of anything without feeling the guilt and remorse. 

“Hey,” Cassian said gently with a brush of his hand against my shoulder. “It’s okay. We’ll get around this. We’ll talk to our allies, to Keir’s legion of Darkbringers. We have other resources available.”

I shook my head. “It’s not that, it’s just…” my voice was guttered and low. “I said…abhorrent things to him. I don’t know if he’ll forgive me.”

Cassian swallowed hard. Nesta looked warily between the two of us, as if they knew something I didn’t. At this point, I could hardly care. 

“He’ll forgive you,” Cassian said quietly. “He’s just withdrawn sometimes. He doesn’t like to talk to the rest of us; he absolutely hates being vulnerable.” Cassian shrugged. “It’s just the way he is.”

I tilted my head to the side, contemplating the thought. It was true. Whenever faced with confrontation, Milo usually ran or avoided it. Why couldn’t he just voice his feelings? What was holding him back?

“So Rhys is arriving tomorrow?” I asked. 

Cassian nodded. “He and Feyre had to take care of a few things, but they’ll be here first thing tomorrow morning in time for another meeting with the war-lords.”

“They actually agreed to—”

I was cut off by a throbbing, agonizing feeling pulsing in my chest. Nesta instantly stood as I let out a feral, ungodly scream. Something was breaking, splitting, a thread tying me to the world, tying me to life—

“ _Keo_!”

I stumbled out of my chair, clutching my chest. Every fibre of my being tugged me northward, and I could see a cabin, a cabin surrounded by snow and mountain tops and acres of forest—

Both of Cassian’s hands were on my shoulders and he was shouting something in my face, trying to get me to respond, but I couldn’t hear him. Not as the world was cleaving in two. I pushed the male off of me and before my mind even knew what my body was doing, I was falling between the worlds until I found myself knee deep in snow. 

The cabin was a beautiful wooden structure, dainty, homey and on the smaller side compared to Rhys and Feyre’s usual tastes. Clouds of vapour dissipated from my mouth as I stumbled into the snow, nearly crying out in joy as I saw the footprints leading to the front doorstep. He was here. I didn’t know why I needed to be here, but my body for some reason just knew that something was abhorrently, irreverently wrong.

Inside, a few faelights were on, dim as to not attract passers by, but still enough for me to know somebody had to be inside. 

I blinked hard against the strong gust of wind that blasted against the mountain side. I hadn’t donned any coat and shivered from head to toe as I trudged as quickly as I could through the powdery, thick snow until I finally reached the front steps of the cabin. There was this thread, this otherworldly pull, tugging me inside. To what beckoned beyond. To _who_ beckoned beyond. The pain had receded but it was still pushing, pushing—

Inside was warm, balmy even. I shuddered at the heat and comfort. In the entrance, Milo’s boots were kicked off, yet he was nowhere to be seen. 

“ _MILO_!” 

No answer. It was like nobody was here.

In the living room was a roaring fire, a few chairs and a lovely, plush sofa covered in furs. The kitchen was simplistic yet modern. One hallway near the back branched off to two bedrooms and a shared bathing room. And all around, coating every inch of the walls, were paintings. Different scenes were depicted across the space: the way the sunlight hit the thin membrane of Illyrian wings, Mor’s golden hair that gleamed like sunshine itself, four sets of eyes overlooking the living room (each with their accompanying moustache beneath them), and beside one of the window sills was a drawing. A charcoal drawing somebody had hung. The work, undoubtedly, was Milo’s. 

It instilled enough urgency within to have me storming to the nearest bedroom. I opened the door with a rattle, but when I peered in, the bed was undisturbed. Perfectly made with crisp sheets and thick, heavy furs draped across the bottom. 

“Milo?” I closed the door then headed further down the hallway. Once again, I jiggled the door handle only to peer in and find the place undisturbed. Everything seemed untouched. 

I pivoted on my heel back to the entrance only to look down at the oak floors and see what I’d missed. I tracked it all the way to the entrance: pieces of clothing, strewn. One piece at a time. First a thick wool jacket, then a blazer, a button down, pants. The very clothes Milo had been wearing to the meeting this morning. 

It all lead to the bathroom. 

Once my eyes settled upon the bathroom door, I knew. The thread within me knew. It drew me towards it, like it needed to connect me to whatever laid beyond.

My heart sunk in my chest, and my thoughts travelled back to another room, another time. 

_Mama_. 

Her skin was cold despite the warm bath water. Cold, and her lips were blue, and she looked up at the ceiling with a hollow vacancy in her crystalline eyes. As though she saw beyond it. Past the ceiling, past the sky, past the entire bloody universe. Because I knew the moment I held her body in my arms that she was gone. I knew from the moment I stepped into the manor that day that something terribly, terribly awful had happened. 

Just like I knew right now. 

Carefully, despite every other sense roaring at me to just run, to fucking sprint as fast as I could, I stepped towards the bathing room. It was like reliving all my nightmares. I didn’t want to run. I didn’t want to face what I thought lied ahead. I couldn’t fucking do it, I _wouldn’t_ lose somebody again. 

Yet still, I swallowed hard, and my fingers squeezed the door handle until it opened with a groan. 

The first thing that hit me was the soft sound of droplets hitting water. It was a peaceful, lethal sound. The second was the distinct tang of blood that met my nose and made me nearly gag. The third was Milo’s body hunched over, breathing raggedly, surrounded in red-stained water. 

_But the last—_

Something snapped. 

Something cleaved into place and my vision burst into an array of colours and light and tastes and sounds for the briefest moment until what was empty void before was filled with a bond, a pathway made of starlight and roses and darkness and eternal light—

A bond that lead to him. To Milo. 

My mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....i'm sorry. But not really.   
> I'm posting tomorrow night I swear don't kill me!!! Right now I'm trying to perfect the next chapter because I really want it to be good, seeing as though you guys have been asking about it for so long! All your questions will finally be answered ;)  
> Until then, readers!  
> Hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!


	21. Void and Hope, Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All cards are finally on the table. All your questions will be answered at last ;)  
> Trigger warning: graphic depiction of self-harm, mention of non-con/rape, mention of suicidal ideation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some songs for y'all to listen to during this chapter (aka what I listened to while writing this chapter):  
> -Love More by Sharon Von Etten  
> -An Evening I Will Not Forget by Dermot Kennedy  
> -River of Tears (instrumental and original) by Alessia Cara  
> -Everybody Loves You by Charlotte Lawrence

Milo

The first two hours were spent with me wreaking my anger upon the Illyrian fangs.

I’d flown and climbed and sprinted across the snow covered land, created avalanches and decimated clearings. I flooded brooks, I tore apart trees. All this time, I was a natural disaster confined to the vessel of my body, but today I let myself be unleashed unto the land around me. When that wasn’t enough, I flew to the cabin. 

I didn’t have time to think. To stop. To eat, or go back and just talk to the others, to talk to… I couldn’t even say her name. To just take a minute to myself and think clearly for a second. 

No. All of my thoughts were concentrated and dedicated to my self-loathing. Not on any particular aspect, like the fact I’d just lost our army, failed to exempt her from the law, failed to be a good enough son for my parents, or seeing Oris and having to relive every fucking thing he’d done to me. No, all of it combined and twisted to fit the consensus: I hate this life. And I can't stand living within the four walls of my mind and my life for another day. 

No, this wasn’t a hissy fit because Keorah yelled at me. This wasn’t some temper tantrum, as I’ve done a few times in the past. This was an unleashing. This was the river of torment pent up within me all these years finally drowning me. Now that it was gone—there was nothing left. Just a hollow, empty shell. 

I didn’t think as I peeled the clothes off of me and padded numbly over to the bathing room. I didn’t think as my knife found itself in my palm, and the bathtub was already filled to the brim with steaming water. When I lowered my bare body into the scalding heat, I barely felt it. 

As I did every time, I stared at the tattoos on my forearms. At what they represented. 

Then I pressed my blade down into it and began destroying myself, over and over again. 

* * *

I didn’t know how much time passed. There was this roaring in my head, all over my body, consuming me so wholly I could barely hear anything else except the dull, slowing beat of my heart. Nothing… I hadn’t done anything like this before. I was a living, breathing welt. From my shoulders to my chest, to my wrists to my thighs and legs and ankles… I’d destroyed myself. Completely destroyed myself. 

Tears squeezed out of my eyes. There was no coming back from this. There was only so much of it I could glamour away. I couldn’t feel it now, not with the adrenaline and endorphins and the high…but tomorrow, I wouldn’t be able to stand. But it’s what I wanted. To feel the pain. To embrace it. 

It wasn’t enough. 

It wasn’t enough, it was never enough, I needed more, if only it could alleviate the pain in my mind, in my heart, in my chest. 

There was such roaring in my mind. It drowned out everything else in the world. It drowned out every other thought and breath and sound. I could barely open my eyes. There was blood, there was so much blood that I was woozy with it. Everything was spinning, and the world, the ground was slipping out beneath me—

I’d gone too far. No, I didn’t want to die, _I couldn’t die_.

But I’d gone too far.

The last thing I remembered was a distant trembling of the mountains outside before I slumped back against the porcelain and lost myself completely.

* * *

“ _Milo_.” 

It was a broken, guttural plea.

I only squeezed my eyes shut, wishing she’d leave. Wishing she was anywhere but here, witnessing my unbecoming. 

I stilled. Maybe if I stayed still enough, everything else would stop. Time would freeze, and I would be stuck in this in between forever to contemplate my miserable existence, to bathe in the depths of my self-pity which never seemed to run dry. To take one bloody second and recuperate. To heal. Maybe tumble back into the pits of unconsciousness I’d fallen into only moments before.

But the world kept spinning. Time kept ticking away, finite as she was. 

“No, no, no, no,” she was saying it like a prayer, and her feet slapped against the tile floor. Then she was in front of me, right in front of me, in the tub, bloody water splashing around her. Never mind that I could barely feel my own body anymore, no, my main worry was that I couldn’t face her. I couldn’t, not like this, _please_ —

“No,” she choked on a sob, and her hands searched for my face, but I curled into myself. I couldn’t face her. I think it would break me completely right now to look at her. 

“Milo,” she said again, “Milo. Please. Just look at me.”

My hair was soaked. My entire body was bloody and raw and swollen. After losing so much blood, it was a miracle I was even alive. But I lifted my head a fraction of an inch until our eyes met beneath my scattered strands of hair. Relief flooded her face. 

“Oh gods,” she breathed. “Milo. _Milo_.”

I was shaking, tremors rocking my entire body, and I suddenly felt so, so cold. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t say that. Don’t you say that.” She carefully reached over and tilted my chin so I could meet her gaze. “I’m going to get you out of here, and I’m going to heal you. Okay?”

“I’m cold,” I muttered between the chattering of my teeth, “I’m so cold.”

“Just stay here,” she said, and climbed out of the tub. “Stay still.”

The air shifted around me, and I let out a groan of pain as I was being lifted out of the tub and onto the cold tile floor. Some of the wounds I felt clotting, but the deeper ones, the ones I only rarely dared, were still dripping with blood. And my wrists, my forearms…they were decimated. The tattoos beneath them hadn’t been magically protected like my Illyrian ones. What were once beautiful inky strokes depicting stars, swirls of darkness and the night sky were now dissected by swift, brutal and precise slashes. The cold of the tiles against my skin only made me shiver harder. I squeezed my eyes shut. 

“Drink,” Keorah ordered quietly. I opened my mouth and her wrist was there pressing against my lips. Though the last thing I wanted right now was blood, I gulped a few mouthfuls down nonetheless. Some of the warmth returned to my bones after that and I sagged against the hard floor. 

Everything was on fire. I could feel every single carving I’d made into my flesh. Never, _never_ had I let anyone see me like this. I felt so weak. Vulnerable. Ashamed. Pathetic. She shouldn’t have to put up with me and this… _mess_. 

“I can’t…” she trailed off. I squinted one eye open to see she had both hands raised. “I’m not practiced in healing. I’ve done it a few times, but I don’t know if this’ll help. But it’s the best we’ve got right now.”

“Just do it.” I ground out. She let out a shuddering breath and pressed both of her palms on my abdomen. 

I gasped at the agony that jolted through me from those two points of contact. But after a few seconds…the pain dulled. Became bearable enough to loosen the knot in my chest and let me breathe a little easier. A calming, soothing wave crested from the crown of my head to the tips of my toes and the shaking stopped. The pain ebbed and flowed until it receded completely. 

“Does this hurt?” She asked softly. I felt her finger probe gently up and down my thighs. I shook my head without opening my eyes. I couldn’t meet her gaze. I couldn’t look at her without burning in shame. 

“This?” Her fingertips now travelled up my arms. Another shake of my head. The cuts tingled distantly, but the pain was tolerable. Manageable. What it would’ve felt like a day or two after a normal session and proper bandaging. 

“Okay,” she sighed. She tapped my body twice and the blood was gone, as well as the water soaking both of us. I felt the essence of it remain, but when I cracked my eyes open to peer down at myself, my skin was clean. 

I sucked in a sharp breath as I assessed the damage I’d done. My entire body, decimated. Each scar like a red, swollen step ladder leading up, one after another, tangling and mingling together, never-ending. I was so ugly. 

It was all so, so ugly. 

“Why?” The word was small and soft from Keorah’s lips. Feeling less dizzy than before, I stood and wrapped a towel around myself. She and I were way past those boundaries but I hated feeling so bare before her, before anyone, without my glamour. 

I sighed as I sat upon the edge of the tub. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She tried, “Please—”

“ _Leave_.”

“ _NO_.”

My head snapped up at the sound. Keorah pushed off the ground and marched over to kneel before me, living breathing flames dancing in her eyes. 

“You do not get to shut me out right now. I just walked in on you _bleeding out_. I know you’re probably feeling like shit right now, but can you just take a second to realize what this is like for me?” Her chest was expanding and contracting rapidly with her laboured breaths. “I thought you were dead. I thought I’d have to haul _another_ body out.” I flinched. “I thought I lost you.” She shook her head as her voice broke on those words. 

No matter how hard I dug my nails into my palms, my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “I wasn’t trying to die.”

Silence surrounded us. She was waiting for more. I knew she was. I just… I didn’t know if I could open up that part of myself. Not that I didn’t trust her. 

I wasn’t ready to face it. I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready to face it. Because voicing it aloud, reliving everything that’d happened… it would make it real.

“Damn it, Milo!” She cried, slapping her hands on the ground. “First it was the hands. Then Oris. Now this?” 

My fiery glare made her eyes widen with shock. “I can’t do this.” I shoved off of the porcelain and marched to my bedroom. Keorah stumbled after me, even when I slammed the bedroom door closed behind me, she kicked it down with the godly-like strength she sometimes summoned. I didn’t even turn as I pulled on a pair of trousers. When I looked down at my destroyed thighs, I had to resist the urge to cringe. 

“You’re just going to walk away?” She yelled. “You’re going to leave?”

“Well clearly you won’t, so it looks like I have to!” I slammed the armoire shut as I tugged on a sweater, finally feeling relieved that at least some of my insanity was hidden. I needed to get out of here. Maybe burn a few more forests down. 

I pivoted on my heel and made for the door once more. Keorah was there in an instant, blocking my way, her face indignant and adamant. Her mouth was puckered in a scowl and there was a deep furrow to her brow when she snarled, “Don’t walk away from me.”

I only wrapped both my hands around her waist and lifted her out of my way, grinding my teeth when she resorted to punching and kicking me away. Once I set her down I made for the door. 

“Just _talk_ to me!” Her voice was guttered and scratchy. I was being awful. I knew I was. But it wasn’t towards her. I just… I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t do this right now. My hands fumbled for my boots and I slipped into them before swinging the front door open, letting a cold blast of air into the space. The air was crisp and biting against my skin but I didn’t care as I waded through the knee-high snow. 

“Milo!” She called from the front door steps. I unfurled my wings into the cold, wincing at winter’s frigid kiss upon the sensitive membrane. No matter what, though, I didn’t look back. She shouldn’t have to deal with me. Deal with any of this. 

“MILO!” Keorah was trudging through the snow now, without boots or a coat or anything—why couldn’t she just let me go? Why couldn’t she just—

_Milo_. 

My entire being stilled. 

Not because she was speaking mind to mind. She’d displayed Daemati powers before, but this…this wasn’t Daemati powers. 

This was a passageway between our souls. An archway of starlight and rose-scented winds and and fresh spring grass, of galaxies and constellations—

_Milo_. Again, the bond surged within me, and the breath escaped my lungs. This wasn’t real. No, this couldn’t be happening—

_Stay_. 

I was completely frozen in my tracks. How did she know? Had somebody told her or—

_Please_. 

Tears glided down my face as I turned to face my mate, who looked just as weary and hopeful as I. Her face broke as I slowly, tentatively took one step towards her. I could see her chest rising up and down, almost as quickly as the pounding of my heart inside my chest. In the depths of my being, I felt it—I felt the bond surge and rejoice as she and I closed the distance between each other. Her cheeks were lined with trails of salt water as she reached up and cupped my cheek with her hand. 

“I’m sorry,” I choked out. She shook her head and her thumb swiped away a stray tear. 

“Let’s talk,” she murmured. “No more running. No more hiding. Let’s just talk.”

I only nodded, and her arm wrapped around me as we waded our way back through the snow and into the cabin. 

 

Keorah

I was still shaking. 

I tried my best not to show it as the two of us settled onto the soft leather sofa. Milo reached over to wrap one of the furs around my shoulders and I tugged it around myself, sighing at the warmth it enveloped me in. Not as warm as his embrace, though. 

My mate. 

My _mate_. 

I hadn’t known all this time. We’d been together for a month—though it seemed like a lifetime, with all we’d faced together—and I never even thought to put two and two together. Had he known? Did he feel that glimmering archway between our souls awaken? It was the only way I thought of stopping him. Whether he knew about the bond or not, at least it worked. At least he was here, and safe. Whether or not he was okay… that was another story altogether.

His skin had been so cold to the touch as I healed him. Cold, and pockmarked with scars, lining the entirety of his body. A carbon copy of mine, only at his own hand. 

I still couldn’t wrap my head around it. How could somebody do that to themselves? Why would he want to scar himself? Didn’t he know how embarrassing and shameful it was to carry these—which were forced upon me?

We sat cross-legged, across from each other. His dark hair was still damp and tousled, falling in gentle curls around his jaw, and the violet in his eyes seemed dim, like somebody had taken his switch and lowered it from his usual brightness. He was not the Milo he paraded around in, cocky and confident and sure of himself. No, I’d never seen him more vulnerable and raw before today. 

The silence was only interrupted by the crackling hearth in the fire pit. I didn’t drop his gaze, though. No matter how much I wanted to just forget any of the last twenty four hours had happened and just hold him against me. 

His throat bobbed, and he murmured, “I don’t know where to start.”

I took a deep breath, assessing his features and how utterly defeated he seemed. “From the beginning.”

The quiet crept upon us once more. Milo’s brows furrowed, and his mouth open and closed several times until he said, “My parents chucked me into Illyrian training when I was ten years old. 

“That was the tradition, as my father did when he was a child, as his mother was taught to do so before him, and so on. It's an important part of my family's culture. Despite that, I hated it. Every bloody second of it. Maybe because I was on the weaker side, or maybe just because I'm stubborn and once I decide on something, nothing changes my mind.”

I glanced at him with a knowing smile and his eyes glinted. They trailed down to his hands which were knotted together in his lap. “I was one of the worst in my class. I would train every day, with Cassian, Azriel, my parents…” he shook his head. “It didn't matter. I wasn't getting better, and I was becoming more and more miserable by day. By the time I was thirteen, I thought of running away or dropping out. It would mean great disappointment and dishonour upon my family but I didn't care. I'd become so hopeless that it didn't matter anymore.

“One day after an especially horrible morning where I'd been pummelled until I could barely breathe, I decided it was enough. I packed a sack and started trekking north. On my way through the woods, I ran into Oris.” Milo's eyes flickered with darkness and his voice went dry at the mention of that male's name. “He was out hunting. He saw how badly I was injured and told me to go with him, that he would help stitch me up. Exhausted and out of options, I followed him.

“He was incredibly kind. Oris is four years older, so he was still in training at the time, and he asked me how I was doing. Why I'd wanted to escape." Milo shrugged. "He was a friend when I needed one. I spilled everything to him. And he only listened without any disapproval or judgment. When I was done, he offered to train me. Thinking maybe he'd help me when everyone else had failed, I accepted."

Milo's breath wooshed out of him. His knuckles were white. He didn't look at me as he continued. "So we trained. Every day. And slowly, I was getting better. Stronger. He taught me everything he knew about Illyrian training and maybe it's because we were friends, or he was closer in age, that it finally stuck. My parents were so happy that I'd finally began enjoying myself, that I'd made a friend. Because that's what Oris and I were. Good friends."

Milo stilled and his eyes closed. His shoulders began shaking with repressed sobs and I reached my hand out to squeeze his. When his eyes opened, they were filled with tears. 

"I don't know when the friendship ended and the control started," he whispered, "but after a year of spending every day together, things got so bad so quickly." He shook his head. "He would force me to be with him every day. Even if I wanted to be with my family, even if I had other things to do, he would _force_ me. And I blindly followed him because I trusted him. I loved him like a friend, like an older brother. I would do anything for him." Milo's face contorted in pain and his voice was barely a breath when he said, "So when he started... when he started touching me, I didn't stop it."

There was unending pain in my chest. 

"He told me it would make me better. I was only fourteen, I was a child, I couldn't stand up to him even if I didn't like it, and I was so scared of him and I felt..." darkness speckled in his eyes when they met mine. "I felt like I owed him. For all he'd done for me. So I let him do it. Over and over, even if I hated it."

I didn't know when I started crying, but I couldn't stop. 

"I found myself even believing the things he'd say. That my strength was only a testament to his. That I was nothing without him. That I couldn't leave him without going back to the weakling I was before." He shook his head. "Then he came of age and took the Rite. After that, he was an Illyrian warrior and was put into rank. He left me before the Rite saying everything that happened between us needed to stay secret. I never saw him, not for a long while. But I promised myself that if I ever did, I would ruin him. I would never fall into his mind games ever again.

"After that I was alone. An outcast in my group. That's when Nya and Raph took me in and we became the best of friends. They helped me heal without even knowing I was broken. They taught me to trust again. And one night, when we were out at the Cauldron's Eddy, they'd gotten shit faced while I stayed sober most of the night. On our way home, they didn't notice when someone pulled me aside into the alley. It was Oris."

Milo ran a hand through his hair, his fingers knotting into the locks as he curled over in a sob. "He tried to take me right there. I was so shocked and paralyzed with fear that I almost let him. The things he said were atrocious." 

My heart cleaved in two as he choked out the words. 

"I remembered the promise I made myself. The pent up rage and resentment boiled over and all I wanted to do was try to bestow on him even an _inkling_ of the pain he put me through, and the scars it left. So I took my dagger from my pocket and dragged it down his face. Brutally. Unforgivingly. I didn't want to kill him, though it would be so, so incredibly satisfying to stomp on his grave. Letting him live the rest of his miserable life with that constant reminder of the evil he'd caused was enough."

I hated to interrupt him, but I had to. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

He shrugged. "Why didn't _you_ tell anyone?" He gestured vaguely to the scars I knew were on my chest, and pursed my lips. "Besides," he said, "I tried telling Devlon. He wasn't as evil as he is today, at least not with me for some reason or other. When I told him he laughed in my face and told me to deal with it." 

I shuddered with fury. 

Milo carried on after a brief moment of silence. "Even after that, what I thought was the end of it, the pain never really went away. It wore on me every single day. I thought I was a fraud and that all my accomplishments were because of him. I was convinced he was right, and I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. Then there was the added stress of always feeling like a failure to my parents, like I could never be enough in their eyes and I was disappointing everyone around me along with their expectations. And I tried," he breathed, "I really tried to deal with my pain in healthier ways. But no amount of exercise or deep breaths or art therapy could fix me. That's when I resorted to cutting.

"At first, I hated it. I thought it was stupid, though I read in ancient history books about how the mentally ill would mutilate themselves so they could feel better. After the first time I tried it, I decided I'd never do it again." Newer, fresher tears streamed down his face. "But I did." He hiccuped on a sob. "And after the fourth or fifth time, I went back to those books and realized I was addicted to it. The endorphins, the rush, it gets you so fucking high that you're driven to do it again and again and again. Not because I want to die, but because it’s the only way of dealing my pain. 

"Those days when I’m numb," he murmured, "when I can't feel anything at all, it's the only fucking thing that reminds me I’m alive. And that this isn't all just some hellscape the Mother created for me.”

Milo’s breaths shuddered in and out of him. He closed his eyes and slumped back against the plush cushion behind him, his face finally gaining back some colour. I only sat there trying to soak everything in. 

“So the hands you drew. The ones that made you clam up every time I asked.” He nodded to reassure me he was listening. “They weren’t your captors.”

“A ruse,” he said. “Once I had a more public, viable reason behind them, I finally had the courage to draw them.”

I covered my face with my hands as more tears fell onto my cheeks. He’d kept this to himself. For all these years, he’d suffered in silence with _no one_ to turn to. I, at least, had Mama who helped me through it. But having to face it all alone… I don’t think I would’ve even stayed sane for all the years. It probably would’ve killed me. 

“All those years of High Lord training, feeling like I was a disappointment…they all gathered together. Decades were passing by and I was just scraping along. Nothing was enjoyable.” He shrugged. “I was a prisoner in my own mind trying to find some sort of purpose or reason. I cared for my court and my people, but not the way my parents do. Not the way you do. My entire life I was told I would be the One. The most powerful High Lord to ever exist. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when my mother told me she was pregnant.” He let out a strained, mirthless laugh. “When she told me, the first thing I felt was relief. _Relief_. Not joy that I’d have a baby sister.” He shook his head in disgust. “For a while after Isra was born, I felt happy again. Then I was taken,” his voice went rough at the mention of the incident, “and it was traumatic. It brought me back to my old ways. I was helpless and utterly miserable, thinking that time and time again, the Mother just wanted me to be unhappy.

“One night, mum came to me and told me Tamlin’s wife died.”

My eyes snapped up at the mention of Mama and Papa. Milo’s gaze softened when he met mine. 

“They went to the funeral. When they got back, we held a meeting. My parents thought that your mother’s death was suspicious, and that the story seemed fabricated. The Inner Circle was divided between getting involved or minding our own business. Our meeting, though, was interrupted by Lucien Vanserra who winnowed in to warn us. He said that he was afraid Tamlin was abusing his daughter, Keorah.”

I didn’t think I was breathing. 

Milo swallowed hard. “I made the decision for everyone right then and there that we were going to get involved. When I heard your name, Keorah,” he breathed, “it was like my prayers were answered.”

No, my heart definitely wasn’t beating. 

“We sent word, and when answer arrived three weeks later, I was so nervous. I’d kept having these dreams recently of this girl running. Always just out of reach, always out of focus. The only detail I held onto was long, blonde hair. That was my only marker I had to rely on. I would see her in my dreams, and I would always try to draw her without really knowing what it meant. 

“When we winnowed to the Spring Court, I felt a…shift. This tug within me pulling, yanking me southward. When we arrived and I saw you on the steps of the Great Hall, the bond snapped into place right then and there. I looked at you and I knew you were my mate.”

Even the wind howling against the mountainside stilled at his words. 

“I knew you were in a dark place,” he breathed, his voice thick, “so I didn’t want to force the bond onto you. I wanted you to discover on your own time when you were ready. Even if it killed me that you were with Carrick, even if it tore me apart to see you so drained and withering before my very eyes. I just wanted to take you and leave, and never look back. Because you…” he trailed off with a shake of his head, “you made me happy. You made me want to get out of bed every morning, to smile, to laugh. I hadn’t felt like that in so long, and you brought it out of me. 

“But we were still on a mission. We promised Lucien we’d get you out of there if we could, if there was any reason to. Yet every day, I found myself falling harder and harder. That very last night when you and I had sex…” he shook his head, “I shouldn’t have done that, but I’ll be damned if I didn’t admit I enjoyed it. Then the next day when everything fell apart and you, well you…” he sucked in a breath. “Seeing him do that to you damn near destroyed me. And when I felt you dying,” more tears streamed down his face, “I thought that that would be the very last cruel trick for the Mother to play on me. To find my mate, to court her, only for her to be ripped away so quickly. There would be no coming back from that.

“After Madja healed you and you isolated yourself in your room at the House of Wind, I decided during those days that I would do everything I could to make sure you were safe. No matter what it took, no matter who I had to fight, I would do it. So when war came knocking at our doors, I was ready. Armed with my purpose, and driven of the hopes at a life with you, I felt like I could finally do something. Yet every single gods-damned step of the way I found a way to screw it up. When I did, I resorted to cutting. It’s my only way of coping that I know, no matter how fucked up it is. And today, after losing the only thing that could save us in this war…” his breath shuddered out of him, “it was over for me. Because after everything, I still failed the people around me, not to mention the most important person in my life. For a second, for _just_ a second…” he shrugged, “ending it all didn’t seem like a bad option.”

He finally leaned back, loosing a long breath. “I’m sorry if I disgust you. I understand if you never want to speak to me again, if you reject the bond. I get it.”

I closed my eyes. It was all so much. 

“I’m sor—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” I said, “finish that sentence.”

He quieted instantly, dead in his tracks as he was about to reach out to me. 

My eyes finally lifted to his. “You think this disgusts me? You think you disgust me?”

Like a rolling wave, from the top of my head down to the tips of my toes, my glamour peeled away to reveal the miles of marked skin. Scratches, bumps, claw marks and old scar tissue—it was all revealed, along the plains of my chest and my once smooth cheeks. 

“Keorah,” was all he could say, his eyes swimming. 

“You don’t get to decide what I can and can’t handle. You don’t get to decide that you don’t deserve me. You don’t get to make those choices for me.”

His face was frozen in fear, shock and dread. I pushed off the couch until I was standing, my fingers clutching the fur against me like it was my only lifeline as panic and anticipation pulsed through me. 

“You are such an idiot, Milo,” I snarled, “you are a such a gods-damned idiot, because if you would’ve just been honest with me, if you could’ve just told me—”

“How was I supposed to tell you if—”

“Don’t interrupt me,” I snapped, my head whipping towards him sitting on the edge of the sofa, “you’ve said enough tonight. Now just listen.

“If you could’ve just told me,” I repeated, “then we could’ve avoided this whole fucking game of cat and mouse and secrecy between us. If you could’ve just opened up to me, trusted me, respected me,” I said, tears rolling down my face as I looked to Milo with a broken, uncertain smile, “then I could’ve told you that I love you. That I’ve loved you for a while now, and there’s nobody else that I’d rather go to hell and back with than you.”

“Keorah,” he wheezed, his shoulders hunched with a sob. I stepped over to him and tilted his head back so he could meet my gaze. Carefully, I settled myself onto his lap so I was straddling him, and ran my thumbs beneath his eyes to wipe away his tears. 

“Milo,” I murmured, searching into his violet eyes, “I know pain. We both know pain. How we deal with it…” I shrugged my shoulders. “It’s up to us. Even if it’s fucked up, even if we ourselves don’t understand it, we can’t help it. This doesn’t scare me. You don’t scare me.” I pressed a kiss to his forehead. His arms wrapped around my waist and he laid his head against my chest. I ran my hand soothingly down the back of his hair, smooth and still damp beneath my fingers. “You got me through everything that happened with Papa. Now I’m going to get you through this. It’s going to be hard, and it’s going to be ugly, but I’ll do it.” I squeezed him tighter against me. “You’re my mate.” I whispered the words onto the top of his head, and they made him draw away from me. When he looked up, a smile alit his face.

“You’re my mate,” he repeated, and I could’ve died at the sound of those words. “I’ve been wanting to shout it from the rooftops for weeks.”

“You could go up and do that right now but I don’t think many people will hear you,” I remarked drily, and his chuckle made the corners of his mouth crease into two dimples. They were so cute I didn’t hold myself back from pressing a kiss to each of them. Then, ever so slowly, fitting my mouth to his. 

Something deep within me rejoiced at the contact between the two of us. 

All in the world was righted as those soft lips met mine, as his mouth danced across mine, warm and gentle and testing. Tentatively, he curled his arm around the small of my back then pulled me closer, deepening the kiss until my mouth was open, inviting to his, and things became hot and fast and wondrous—

This kiss didn’t right the world. This kiss set the whole fucking world on _fire_. 

He pulled away just enough that our lips were touching. I leaned my forehead against him, my breaths already turning ragged from the utter intensity of the moment we were sharing. 

“I love you,” he sighed the words. “I don’t think I can even put into words what you mean to me.”

“Show me,” was all I replied. He didn’t need to be told twice as his mouth claimed mine once more.

_** (NSFW!!!) ** _

The kiss ravaged me. There was no point of contact between us that wasn’t threatening to destroy me wholly. Everything in me wanted more, needed more—needed him everywhere. I didn’t realize how much I’d wanted him until now as he was holding me against him so tightly, like he thought I could sip away at any given moment. His tongue drifted into my mouth and I let out a moan against his lips, needing less layers between us, and more of him, just _him_ —endlessly and completely. 

He was breathing like he’d lost his mind, and he was looking at me like something had broken inside of him, like he’d woken up to find that his nightmares were just that, the they never existed, that it was all just a bad dream that felt far too real but now he was awake, and he was safe, and everything was going to be okay and

I was falling. I was falling apart and into his heart. 

With a huff he pushed off the couch and hooked his hands into the backs of my legs as he carried us towards the kitchen. He cleared whatever was on the island before and laid me gently against the marble, which was cold against my back but I couldn’t even feel anything anymore besides my mate and the utter adoration that filled my bones every time I looked at him, every time there was contact between us—it was all that my mind could focus on as his lips attacked my neck, despite the scratches that laid there, despite the new ones he would find when more layers were removed. 

I let out an unlawful moan as his lips suckled on a sweet spot between my shoulder and neck, and it only incited an animalistic growl from him as his hands reached up to tear away my shirt and brassiere. My bare breasts were exposed to him and he drew away from my neck to stand over and gaze down at them appreciatively. Ever so gently, his finger danced around the sensitive flesh. 

“Please,” I ground out, arching my back up to reach his grazing touch. He smirked at the utter desperation of the gesture, then lowered his mouth to my peaked nipple. 

The sounds I emitted were downright pitiful as his tongue and teeth nipped and scraped at the skin while his other hand palmed my other breast. My fingers knotted into his silken hair and pressed his head against me. I could feel him smiling into my skin. He ground his hips into mine and I sucked in a breath as I felt his hardness press into me through the layers between us. This…oh, this would be my unbecoming. 

My hands reached out of their own accord and peeled his shirt away to reveal the hardened muscles beneath. Deciding he’d also had enough of all this useless clothing, he unbuttoned my pants and I arched my hips up so he could tear them off of me along with my panties. He as well pulled away his trousers until we were both completely and utterly naked before each other. No glamours, no clothes, no secrets. 

There was such silence as we both took each other in. 

Every glorious inch of him was gorgeous (though my eyes strayed a little longer the generous length and girth of him). Every glorious inch of him was also scarred. Some were smaller, like tiny nicks and scratches that could’ve been done by a house animal, yet others were thick and red and bulging from his skin, like the fresher ones of my chest. 

His throat bobbed up and down with nervousness. His eyes as well were scanning me from head to toe. 

“I see you,” I said, “I see you and I’m not afraid.”

“You’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen,” was all he replied. He took one step towards me and reached out two fingers to brush a stray piece of hair away from my face. Then those fingers traced across the five claw marks extending down my features. 

“They’re atrocious.” I murmured, wanting to sink in on myself. 

He shook his head. “All they are is a testament to Tamlin’s shrivelled soul. They don’t make you any less mesmerizing, angel.” 

I had to blink away wetness from my eyes. 

Milo leaned in and so achingly gently pressed featherlight kisses all the way down those marks, until his lips found mine once more. This time, the fire, the burning urgency was gone—replaced by a slower more passionate intensity. The strong cords of muscle in Milo’s back shifted beneath my hands as he took me into his arms once more and carried me through the hall to the bedroom. 

The faelights burned brighter, then dimmed when we entered the room. Milo lowered me gently onto the bed, wings tucked in tight around him, before climbing on top of me to straddle my waist and fitting his mouth to mine. The kiss was open and deep, a clash of tongues and teeth, a promise of forever and everything in between. I could feel his member against me and reached my fingers down to wrap my fingers around him. He let out an inhuman sound and snatched my hand to pin it up above me. I laughed, but then his mouth was on my breast again, and I felt like these moments pressed together were going to be the end of me. 

His chin dipped lower, so much lower, and I had to catch my breath as Milo’s mouth trailed along my inner thigh. He pressed kisses all long, and my legs were trembling as he spread them wider and revealed all to him. When the cool air hit my centre I sucked in a breath. 

He was waiting. Teasing. I glanced down at him to see he had a saccharine smile on his face. Testing me. 

“Milo,” his name was a plea, a prayer. 

I felt the tips of his finger dance against the curve of my hip. “What’s that, angel?”

“Please, Milo,” I moaned again, arching my hips up for him. He leaned down, and I squeezed my eyes shut in anticipation, every nerve within me needing any type of friction or connection between us, only for him to blow out cold, icy air against my centre that had my gut coiling. 

“You’re mine,” he snarled before the first stroke of his tongue made me fall off the face of the earth. 

He worked in great sweeping strokes, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head as he sucked on that one sweet bundle of nerves. He groaned at the wetness that’d already been there, and oh gods—he was going to ravage me whole. I was shaking, arching up into his mouth and when his tongue entered me I was seeing stars—

Release barrelled through me quickly and brutally with a cry of pleasure that nearly made the mountains around us tremble. My entire body shook with tremors as he kept working me through my orgasm. His hair was silken in my fingers as I pressed his head down against me, never wanting this moment, these sensations, to end. When he finally did look up to me, his mouth was gleaming with my slickness. He licked it off slowly, and I swore I could’ve found release just at the sight of it. 

“You’re mine,” I rasped, the words an echo from that moment beneath the willow long ago. I knew now why he’d murmured the words back then as my very soul whispered for me to voice them aloud right now. I was his and he was mine, and nobody could say any different, not even the Mother Herself. 

He propped himself up on scarred knees, and I reached toward the muscled skin of his stomach, just needing to touch him. My hand traveled to his backside, pulling him closer down against me, but when his eyes squeezed shut almost painfully with a flinch, I stilled and retreated.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed, panic filling my bones despite everything else I was feeling right now, “we can stop.” If he wasn’t comfortable, if he couldn’t do this, I’d end it in an instant, no questions asked. 

He shook his head, and his voice was tight as he said, “No. No, I just…just don’t touch me there, okay?”

“Of course,” I whispered, reaching my hand up to cup his cheek. His eyes were still closed. 

“I love you, Milo,” I said, “you’ve helped me find that light that was buried within the darkness threatening to swallow me whole. You’ve helped me try to build my broken self back together, and I am eternally grateful for having you enter my life.”

He shuddered against me at the words and finally opened his eyes, which glowed with the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. I leaned up and pressed a kiss to each corner before pulling his mouth down to mine once more. 

When he nudged my entrance, the fire that’d cooled moments before was lit anew, and I needed him. _I needed him._

Then he was filling me, and my fingers knotted into the sheets so tightly my knuckles were white. Milo buried his face into my neck as he buried himself inside me. I held him against me, hooking my legs behind his back, just beneath where his wings jutted out. Ecstasy coursed through me just at the feel of him inside of me. 

“Keorah,” he breathed into my ear. He pressed a kiss to the soft skin there and started moving in me. 

I was seeing stars. 

“You’re mine,” he ground out as his hips thrust into mine, filling the void within me, securing the bond between us. My back arched into him as he withdrew almost completely then slammed back into me. 

“I’m yours,” I moaned as his mouth trailed lower and his lips met the skin of my sensitive breast. 

The world, the entire world was on fire around us as his hips rolled against mine, meeting my thrust in time, hitting that spot within me that yearned to touch him, to wrap my being around him. I clawed at his back to pull him closer to me, but also to mark him, to show him he was mine, he was _mine_ —

“You’re mine,” I snarled.

“I am yours,” he answered, his pace quickening. 

“Say it again.”

“I am yours, Keorah.”

The air around us was splitting at the seams, _we_ were splitting at the seams, two souls cleaving from two bodies to join and forge, to become one—

I stared up at that rugged face, that beautiful face, the terra-cotta skin and jet black hair. The smooth, sharp line of his nose and those eyes, those piercing violet eyes. 

“I am yours, Milo.”

My lover who’d waited patiently for me despite the odds stacked against us. 

My friend who’d reached into the darkness and found the light within me. 

My mate who took one look at my entire being and did not balk, did not back down, but saw me for who I was. My equal in every way. 

“I love you.”

Released barrelled through me at that last, deep stroke, and I could taste and feel and touch starlight as he continued to thrust within me, as I tightened around him and soon enough he was roaring my name like it was the only word he needed in his vocabulary, until we were both panting and clutching for each other, a song of light and darkness forging to create one, a bond that connected us soul to soul, being to being. 

And when I opened my eyes, the room was gone, the cabin was gone, and all that remained was a space filled with darkness and void, the two of us tangled within it. But Milo breathed tiny specks of light into it dancing all around us, and I smiled as hope sprung about, lighting up the ethereal space we’d created just for ourselves, just for our souls to bond and forge and be together at last. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed it. I know this chapter has been long awaited, and it took me about a week and a half to write it to perfection, and I'm actually really satisfied with how it came together. My biggest issue was rushing into the romantic plot and kind of leaving Milo's previous emotions of despair left hanging (because in reality I'd find that really hard to do), but my way of seeing it as that the bond would be kind of a primal instinct that drives Milo to forget those feelings for just a second to enjoy that time with his mate. Of course, mental illness isn't just cured in a day. Trauma isn't surmounted after speaking about it once. Both of these characters are far from healing, and they will continue struggling for a while yet. I want to handle these topics as graciously as I can and do them justice, so please tell me if any of you think there are ways I can improve or I should tweak, because constructive criticism is always incredibly appreciated!  
> Anyways, this chapter and the next three or so chapters will kind of be the end of the first half of this book. We're only getting started baby ;)  
> As always, hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!


	22. Breakfast and Dessert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SUPER NSFW. Just warning.   
> Keorah and Milo have some gods-damned undisturbed peace and quiet for once in their lives.

_CHAPTER 22_

Milo

Every moment that passed seemed just as surreal as the next. 

We were lying in bed, touching each other lazily as the sun began to rise in the distance. There wasn’t a cloud in sight, as each morning began in Illyria before the clouds came, and made the snowy expanse look like a perfect winter day. Beneath the heat of the furs and sheets we’d piled on top of us, Keorah’s body was warm and perfect against mine, and I trailed my fingers slowly down the expanse of her thigh. 

When my fingers brushed over scarred skin, I didn’t even bat an eye. 

I’d wanted to decimate Tamlin for the wreckage he’d wreaked upon her. The claw marks on her face made me want to boil him alive and remove his flesh strip by fucking strip. Never in the slightest did they take away from her jaw-dropping beauty that made my knees weak with every look at her. But also knowing that she and I bore these scars, that we weren’t alone…there was a reason, then, why the Mother had made us mates. Equals in every way. 

“I think I fell in love with you,” I said, “when I first heard you sing. You sound like an angel, angel. Tugging at my heart strings like they’re your own little harp.”

“If you use those analogies in any public space I will skin you alive.”

I chuckled into her neck and I could feel her smile into my hair. She cradled me against her, an embrace that felt like my weary soul could realign itself after the damage that’d been done. We’d been talking about nothing and everything through all hours of the night, touching each other when we felt like it—taking it all slow, unlike everything else we’d undergone the last month. 

I still couldn’t believe this was real. After spending so much time yearning for it, only to have it now… it felt like a dream. One I never wanted to wake from. 

“I was falling for you for a while,” she admitted quietly, her fingers dancing up and down my back, “but I knew for sure the day of the High Lord and High Lady meeting. Thinking you were going to die…” I felt her shake her head above me. “I had not felt such fear than in that moment.” She added quietly, “And last night.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again, my cheeks heating. 

“Don’t,” admonished, “stop apologizing for that. Like you said, it’s an addiction. You can’t help it.”

I was about to apologize again but bit my tongue. Instead, I murmured, “I don’t deserve you.”

“We deserve each other.” She said quietly, tilting my head up to meet her soft gaze. Her blonde hair fell in lazy waves around her face, and I wanted to swim in it. “You and I, we both deserve each other’s love, each other’s happiness. Nothing’s going to change that, okay?”

“Okay,” I said, and leaned up to capture her mouth with mine. She smiled against my lips.

She drew away from me then sighed. “We have to leave at some point, though.”

“No,” I groaned, curling further into the sheets, further into her. “Let’s stay here forever. They’ll never find us.”

“It took me less than thirty seconds to find you.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I sighed. “I just want one day. One day where nothing goes wrong, and I can enjoy myself, and just be happy for twenty four hours straight without interruption.”

A beats of silence before Keorah wondered, “Just one day?”

“Just one day.”

“Alright. I’ll go talk to the others.” She was extricating herself from me, the warmth suddenly leeched from the covers we’d drawn around us, and I whined as she sauntered over to the armoire and began pulling clothes out. It took me a moment to get over the sight of my mate naked before me, like an angel in the light of day. Keorah’s blonde hair cascaded down her back, glinting so beautifully in the sunlight that my fingers itched for a piece of charcoal to capture the moment. I blinked a few times and cleared my throat to focus on the present. 

“And tell them what?”

She shrugged on a sweater and leggings, though I was going to tear them off as soon as she got back. “That we need a day to ourselves.” Keorah stepped over to the door and turned to me to ask, “Is there anything you want me to tell them for you?” She paused and added quietly, “Your parents are there as well.”

I closed my eyes and slumped back against the pillows, racking my mind for how exactly to channel what I was feeling after all that’d happened in the past twenty four hours. I knew at some point I was going to have to open up to them about the cutting, but today wasn’t that day, and especially not through Keorah. 

I settled upon, “Tell them I’m exhausted. I’m worn, and I just want to spend a day away from all the madness with my mate.” I swallowed hard. “Tell them I love them.”

She flashed me a heart warming smile and made for the door, leaving me to curl into the sheets and get a bit of sleep after all the not-sleeping activities we’d done in bed last night.

 

Keorah

I winnowed onto the front doorstep of the Illyrian house. My glamour had been sealed over my skin just as I’d winnowed off the front step of the cabin, because exposing my true form to Milo and to the rest of the world were two very, very different things. 

Inside, figures were pacing back in forth in the windows, and instantly my heart started beating faster. My knuckles reached up to knock softly against the door, and it whipped open before I could even withdraw my frozen fingers. 

Standing there, wings flared and death in his eyes, was Rhys. I’d never seen such fury radiating off of him, and now I knew why other courts trembled in his wake. Tendrils of darkness swirled around him like the wrath brewing in his eyes. 

“Where the hell have you been?” His voice was low and smooth, undoubtedly a voice he saved to make enemies quake. I did not step down, and from behind Rhys, I could see Cassian pursing his lips. It only made me lift my eyes to stare Rhys down with as much menace and confidence I could muster. 

“I was with your son at the cabin.” I was surprised to hear my voice so clear and unshaken. 

“And you didn’t bother to tell us? Give us some sort of sign of life?” Feyre stepped out and into the doorframe next to Rhys, looking just as furious and ready to break my bones. Gods, they really could be clueless sometimes. 

“Sorry, my _mate_ and I were a little busy.”

The words instantly made them still. I only offered the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court a tiny grin before saying, “Now will you let me in the damn threshold? It’s freezing.”

The door opened and they cleared the way to let me step by them. Nesta was seated at the table and Cassian only grinned as he crossed the distance between us and squeezed my shoulder. I smiled before settling into my usual spot at the dinette, Milo’s parents still awe-struck and silent before me.

“He told you?” Feyre wondered quietly. 

I shook my head. “It snapped into place when I…” I swallowed hard. “When I found him.”

“Then why were you screaming before you winnowed off?” Rhys questioned, leaning against the table. “We’ve been searching half the night for the two of you. We even made the troops scan for you on patrol this morning.”

Milo told me not to say anything. That he would face it on his own time. I swallowed hard and said, “It was the bond. And Milo.”

“Is he okay?” Rhys pressed once more. 

I said nothing. No, Milo was not okay. Milo was far, far from okay, and he’d been keeping it from the people around him for too long. But what he’d done, what he was about to do… I couldn’t voice that for him. It was something he needed to voice and accept for himself to truly understand the weight of it. 

“ _Is he okay_?” Feyre demanded. 

I couldn’t meet their eyes. “Physically, he’s fine. He’s safe.” An instant tension relieved itself from my mate’s parents’ shoulders. “But Milo has been through a lot these last few weeks and after what happened yesterday, it pushed him over the edge. Right now he’s just trying to reel himself back in.”

“What happened?” Nesta pressed. She too looked like death incarnate, a panther ready to strike. 

My gaze locked with each of theirs, and I said, “I can’t tell you.”

“Why?” The word was low, cool and full of command from Feyre’s mouth. I levelled my gaze with hers. They were the ones who hadn’t noticed his suffering. Even on my best days, Mama knew when I was just plastering a smile to hide what was underneath. She would ask me what’s wrong and I’d crumple into her. She _knew_. Shouldn’t a parent just… know?

“If you want to know what’s wrong with your son, then talk to him. He told me not to say anything, and I will not break my mate’s trust.” I breathed out a heavy sigh. “All I came to tell you is that we’re both safe. We’re staying in the cabin. All we want is one day to ourselves to enjoy each other’s company in the midst of this mess, so please,” I said, “just let us be.”

They were quiet for a moment. I could sense Rhys and Feyre’s irritation towards me, and I decided that they were worried, not oblivious. Milo was good at lying, at hiding, and if he truly didn’t want his parents to know what was going on with him, they weren’t going to find out until he came forward, just as he had with me. 

“Milo’s okay,” I said again, my tone softer this time. “He told me to tell you he loves you both. He loves all of you.” I turned to Nesta and Cassian, who merely blinked at me. “He just needs a day. _I_ need a day. Because we all know…” my voice turned scratchy and I cleared my throat from the lump that was forming. “We all know that I’m living on borrowed time anyways.”

“That’s not true,” Cassian said quietly, but I shook my head. 

“It is. So please. Just let me have a day with my mate.”

Rhys and Feyre stood there for a moment, assessing. They must’ve been communicating through the shared bond of theirs, the one I’d used last night to get Milo to stay. One that I was now going to use much, much more often. 

“You love him?” Rhys asked. 

I nodded my head. 

“Then go.” He pointed to the door. 

I gave a nod of my head and headed towards the exit, ready to go back to my mate and make him breakfast, to officially offer him food and seal the bond for good. I already knew what I was going to make him, anyway. But there was one thing I needed to do first, though. 

“I need to see Thesan.” I asked Rhys and Feyre, who both looked at me confusedly.

“If something’s wrong with Milo—”

“No,” I lied, “it’s not about Milo. I just have a few quick questions to ask about my mother.”

Rhys nodded. “I can take you right now.”

My heart sagged in relief as he joined me at the front steps and we winnowed away within a heartbeat.

* * *

Milo

I opened my eyes to the sight of Keorah standing at the doorway to our bedroom wearing scraps of lace, a devilish smile on her face. Instantly, I propped myself up in bed, ready to pounce on her before the smell of a fresh breakfast made its way to me. I didn’t know how long she’d been here or how I hadn’t awoken upon her arrival, but I sure as hell was awake now. 

“Breakfast is ready,” her voice was breathy and enticing, like she had everything but breakfast in mind right now. My eyes wandered up and down the curves of her body, wanting to ravish her completely with my lips. 

“I think I’d rather eat you right now, angel,” I breathed as I gathered myself from the bed and stepped over to her. She quirked her brow and backed away with each stride I took until I was chasing her. Keorah laughed as we both ran butt naked through the cabin. As soon as my fingers brushed her sides I grabbed her and threw her over my shoulder. She laughed and hit me incessantly as I twirled her in circles before setting her down at the bar stool. 

Blonde hair fell in waves over her shouldered her eyes shone bright emerald in the morning sun as she stared up at me. I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned down to press a soft kiss against her mouth. 

“You should sleep,” I murmured against her lips, but she shook her head. 

“I’m fine,” she said, “coffee will wake me up.”

“You made coffee?” I looked to the spread and saw all our favourites: oatmeal, pancakes, fresh fruits and eggs…then on a plate before the bar stool next to her was a chocolatine and bacon.

“My favourite,” I said, awestruck as I looked down at the plate. She turned to pick the plate up and offered it up to me. 

I would cherish the sight forever. 

“You truly accept it?” I asked softly, quietly. She shot me a pointed look. 

“I don’t quite think I would’ve went through all this trouble if I didn’t, bat-brain,” she chuckled, gesturing to all the food she’d laid out.

“Like you can cook,” I scoffed, and she stuck out her tongue at me. Nonetheless, I took the plate from her fingers and sat. Biting into the chocolatine set me on fire, and the taste of it was downright orgasmic. I finished it and the bacon strips in a few bites as Keorah watched, a small smile upon her face. 

“Funny how all it takes is you pigging out and clogging your arteries to officially declare us as mates,” Keorah said drily. I snorted and turned in my stool to face her. Her eyes trailed down the length of my body, and before I knew it she reached over behind my shoulder to brush the tips of her fingers down the side of my folded wing. 

My eyes squeezed shut at the shivers it sent down my spine. Her second touch hit me, and I was at full attention. 

“Sensitive Illyrians,” she murmured into my ear.

“Grow some wings and I’ll show you sensitive.”

Keorah let out a soft laugh as she slid out of her seat to stand between my legs. I hadn’t bothered to put on clothes, seeing as though we’d be definitely doing a lot of this today, and her getting on her knees only confirmed it. My fingers curled around the edge of the countertop as Keorah’s lips pressed soft kisses on the inside of my thigh, climbing higher and higher until she neared the spot where every nerve was yearning for her touch. 

Her tongue slid up my length from base to tip, and I let out an ungodly moan. 

She chuckled below me, her eyes looking mischievous and taunting as she continued her slow, deliberate strokes of her tongue against me. It took all my willpower not to reach down and press her onto me, to get any sort of friction between us, but most of all to bury myself into the warm wetness of her mouth. 

Her fingers reached up to steady me, then with a wink up towards me, she took me wholly. 

“Oh _Gods.”_

My eyes rolled into the back of my head. The sounds I was making were downright animalistic as her head bobbed slowly, torturously slowly up and down on my cock, and I was so glad that we’d gone far, far away from my family to indulge in this frenzy of debauchery. Every colour and sound and sensation felt amplified and something within me coiled and twisted as Keorah picked up her pace. I reached down to knot my fingers into her hair and collect it all away from her face, and she groaned as I tugged it tightly, not enough to hurt but enough to assert dominance as my hips jutted of their own accord to meet her movements. I was close, so close-

Release shattered down my spine as I continued to grind my hips into her face. She never stopped her motions, only kept on as I trembled on the bar stool, my breath uneven and hoarse as we both tried to catch our breaths. Keorah cleaned me off with a last lick of her tongue before staring up at me devilishly.

“Cruel, beautiful thing,” I panted as she slid back onto the bar stool as if nothing happened with a small, satisfied smile on her face. She picked at a few foods and loaded her plate up—to what she considered full capacity, but I thought of as military rationing—and dug in. It incited me to scoop a few other foods onto my own dish and pour us each a cup of coffee.

Keorah pecked away as I cleaned off my plate. Not as much as I’d like, but still enough for her to struggle through the last few bites. The way the sun hit the side of her face and created a ghostly silhouette like image from where I sat made my fingers itch at my sides.

I hadn’t drawn in weeks. The stress and circumstances had driven me away from my art, my one form of complete relaxation and withdrawal from the world around me—besides my sick practices in the bathtub that I didn’t want to think about at the moment—and somewhere in the last few weeks, I was promised a nude session. 

Right now, with the sun hitting my mate at just the right angle, I decided it was time. I was already on my feet moving for the storage room. 

“What are you doing?” Keorah called. 

“Stay right there!” I rifled through the stacks of junk we kept back here, all the extra weapons, bows and arrows, canisters of paint and wool heavy coats. Even one of Amren’s onyx rings was found discarded with a thin sheen of dust covering it. But there with the other art supplies was my travelling charcoal set as well as a few frayed leather-bound sketch books. I grabbed one of them and raced back into the kitchen. 

“What’s this all about?” Keorah wondered, then her eyes befell what awaited in my fingers and she broke into a dimpled smile. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” I replied with a grin as I settled back into the bar stool. I cleared my food away to make space for my charcoals and opened the virtually untouched sketchbook, empty save for a few quick failed drafts of Mor I’d attempted at a few autumns ago when she forced me to, in her words, "spend time away from the brainless brutes who call themselves warriors". She’d demanded a portrait of herself yet couldn’t monger the ability to sit still for more than two minutes straight. 

“How would you like me to pose?” She questioned, and shot me a twisted grimace. I gave her a pointed look. 

“Just look natural. Stare right into my eyes and relax your face.”

She followed my instructions and let her features smooth out, creating smooth plains across her face. My hands drifted slowly at first across the page, then before I knew it, there were her eyes and lips and her perfect, round little nose…

I couldn’t get enough of her. After I filled that first page, everything else just kept flowing until we moved and she was draped across the couch, a few sketches with the lacy lingerie, yet a bunch more without. Keorah was a perfect model, laying still and letting the light hit her, not shying away from my suggestions to show herself completely to me. 

Like I promised, I drew every curve of her. Every. Damned. Curve. I knew the topography of my mate’s body like the back of my hand. This sketchbook would have to be heavily guarded, should it get into the wrong hands, I think we’d both die of embarrassment. 

I hadn’t even realized that a few hours flew by and half of our day was gone. Between most of the sketches, I took her everywhere—on the couch, against the wall, bent over the kitchen table—my skin just needed to be against hers, my ears needed to hear her moans, her words that claimed me as hers, and her as mine. Two as one, two halves, two wholes. 

We were panting against the soft fur we’d laid out on the couch when I looked over to my mate and asked, “What would you like to do on our day off?”

She contemplated the idea for a moment, her eyes bright and full of wonder as they drifted to the windows and the land beyond. “I want to go outside. It’s so rare that I get to see snow.”

I let out a bark of laughter. “That’s not something you hear often up here in the North.”

“No wonder you’re all so cold-hearted.”

I rolled my eyes at her pun but she laughed herself hoarse at her own joke. I peeled myself off the couch and scooped her up so we could head to our room and finally put some clothes on. Fully clothed (to my disappointment), we waded out into the high stacked snow where the sun was beaming down upon us. Not a single cloud blocked the cerulean expanse, and for miles out the thicket of the forest chirped with the quiet sounds of fauna surrounding us. Keorah turned to me with rosy cheeks and a small, cheeky grin. 

“We’re out here now. What do you wanna do?” I asked. 

“Take a walk. A nice, normal walk in the woods without any magic or secrets or arguments. Just pleasantries and fresh air.”

My chest eased at the sound of normalcy. “Yes please.”

* * *

“Favourite colour?”

“Easy. Navy.” I tugged at my collar, and she rolled her eyes at my dark blue wool trench coat I’d slipped into. I rarely wore anything but the colours of the Night Court, like dad, though the rest of the family constantly pestered us about it. Mor even bought me a mint green blazer for solstice one winter, which I’d vehemently declined. 

“Favourite meal?”

“Mama’s noodle soup,” she answered right away. Her eyes glinted with the spark of nostalgia. “She cooked it for me whenever I was sick.”

I looked to my mate and swallowed hard. “I wish I could’ve met her.”

Keorah grinned. “She would’ve berated you til you ran crying like a little bitch just to have a laugh.” I chuckled, the sound echoing off the trees surrounding us. She continued by saying, “It’s so weird, because sometimes I forget she’s gone. Sometimes I think that she’s just away visiting Vivianne or her childhood friends in the Dawn Court, or maybe she went for a longer ride than usual. Sometimes I think this entire ordeal is just some twisted hellscape I’m conjuring up in my mind and I’ll wake up any second now and go back to the way things were. Even after the funeral, even after feeling her dead in my arms, it still doesn’t feel real.”

I squeezed my mate’s hand. I could feel that sorrow pulsing at the other end of the bond, a dark raging tempest swirling beneath the surface. Despite it, she turned to me with a small smile on her face and questioned, “Favourite meal?”

I replied, “You,” before softly pressing my lips to hers where I could fell them smiling against me. Keorah pulled away and said, “Get your head out of the gutter, Milonius.” 

So fast I barely saw her moving, snow sprayed across my face like an explosion of white, bright cold. I stared at my mate to see her doubled over with laughter, water dripping from her hands where she’d just cradled her projectile. 

“Oh, you don’t know what you’ve started.” 

* * *

The fight went on for hours. We built our own forts and made lines in the snow we couldn’t cross. By the end of it, my hands were raw and fingertips turning nearly blue from making so many snowballs. At some point, I caught on quickly from Keorah that I could manipulate the snow balls to make themselves. I thought I had the advantage, but when one of the snowballs came hurdling towards me covered in spiky icicles, I knew I was definitely out of her league when it came to this sport. I think even Uncle Cass would shit his pants if she played in their annual solstice tournament. There were definitely bruises on my shoulders from some she’d thrown especially hard after I got her square in the cheek. 

We collapsed against a snowbank near the side of the cabin overlooking the forest expanse below the steep of the mountain. The sun was about to begin its trek towards the horizonand the sky painted itself a pale lavender, orange creamy colour for the event. With Keorah’s warm hand in my own and the glory and beauty of both my mate and the nature laid out around us, I could’ve stayed here forever. 

“We should go inside,” she murmured, her thumb brushing smoothly against the back on my palm, “or else you’ll lose your favourite part to the cold.”

“I think you’re more concerned about that particular part than me. Would I daresay it’s your favourite part?”

“Only if it boosts your confidence, batling. I know how sensitive Illyrians can be.”

I rolled my eyes yet stood and tugged her up against me. Together we walked back inside, and I sighed, thinking that it couldn’t have been a more perfect day. 

* * *

Keorah

I thought today couldn’t have been a more perfect day. That was until Milo took a turn in the kitchen to bake fresh bread, lamb stew and molten chocolate. We ate our delicacies by the warmth of the fire as we tried to restore heat into our bodies after being outside for so long. Being out there, having fun and just being childish… I missed that. I’d never really had any friends growing up, but just spending those moments with him made me feel like I could have those lost experiences. Time with my mate compensated tenfold for the precious memories I couldn’t make during my trapped childhood. 

I sat back against the couch, a soft sigh expelling from my lips, while Milo kept whizzing around in the kitchen behind me. He’d laid out a blanket before the roaring fire that warmed the tips of my nose, still frozen from our time spent outdoors. I looked over my shoulder to see Milo’s sketchbook he’d left lying on the cushions, carefully folded over to an open page of my bare ass. I laughed at the sight yet still studied the piece in wonder, running my fingers over the grainy, creamy textured paper depicting a still of me sitting on the couch with my legs folded under me. My hair was tossed over my shoulder leaving my back bare. True to his art, Milo didn’t leave out a single detail: every shadow, highlight, curve and nick, including the claw marks extending the entire length of my back. I could still feel the sensation of his warm tears hitting my skin when I’d first shown them to him the previous night, laying awake together into the dark of the evening. I continued to sift through the delicate illustrations, still unbelieving that his hands could create such beautiful art. 

“You like them?” Milo wondered quietly. He sat down carefully, two steaming mugs in both of his hands, with a small smile on his face. 

“I love them,” I said, taking the mug he offered me greedily, the scent of chocolate wafting to my nose. My brows furrowed. 

“What?” He asked with a worried look. 

I took another delicate sniff of the hot liquid. “What is this?”

His mouth formed a small ‘O’. “No.”

“What?”

“You’ve never had molten chocolate?”

I shook my head gently. “When it’s cold in the Spring Court, we drink tea or coffee.”

“No wonder you wanted to leave,” he said, and I shoved his shoulder. His face broke into a grin. “Then I’m glad I’m here to witness it.”

Without hesitation, I took a sip from the piping chocolate and was instantly met with rich, creamy and delightful flavours dancing across my tongue and warming the back of my throat, flowing through my chest and continuing to spread that warmth til I could feel it in the ends of my body. By a long shot, the drink was more warming than the fire. 

“Delicious,” I said, “and completely outrageous that I haven’t tried it before.”

“My thoughts exactly.” My mate settled in beside me and I leaned my head against his shoulder, basking in the quiet moment we shared amongst the many other memories we’d created together today. Without any distraction or problems, arguments or predicaments. Just peace and quiet and our shared love beating strongly between us. Though it was perfect, and I wanted to stay here stuck in time forever as the rest of the world continued to tread forward, there were matters to attend to beyond the four walls of this cabin and the quiet, snowy wood surrounding it. 

“We have to go back tomorrow,” I murmured before taking another sip of my molten chocolate.

“Not if my prayers are answered, we don’t,” Milo said, and I snorted. We both went quiet again before Milo added, “I’m sorry. About the meeting with the war-lords. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I ruined our chances.”

I shook my head. “You spoke from your heart, Milo. You told them the truth. They’re too arrogant and cold-hearted to ever be able to understand such things.” My chest loosened with a sigh. “Besides, what I said to you was abhorrent. There’s no excuse for it. I’ll dread it for the rest of my life.”

“The only words you said in that moment that hurt me, angel, were when you said that you’re not enough. Because you may not see it, but you are enough. _You are so much more than enough_. You, Keorah, are all the stars in the sky in one shining at full brightness.”

I lifted my head from his shoulder and met his gaze with tears lining my vision. “I love you.”

He closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “I’ll never get tired of those words.”

“I love you.” I said. “I love you, I love you, I love you…” I whispered the words over and over again as I set my cup aside to climb onto his waist and cup his warm cheeks between my hands. His hair was soft and silky between my fingers as I sifted my hands gently into the strands to pull them away from the strong plains of his face. His violet eyes stared up at me with a wonder and adoration that made my chest swell. 

I fit my mouth to his and was born again. Everything about this wasn’t like before. This time it was the animalistic hunger rushing through my veins, my primal instincts whispering at me to nip, touch, bite—claim him as my own. His lips pulled away from mine and attacked my neck. I felt his teeth bite into the hollow of my throat and loosened a moan. 

My hips ground into his beneath me and his hardness awaited me. At that contact between us, all restraint was gone and he was pushing me back, back against the blanket before the fire, and a soft clink sounded from near my head. I looked to my side with Milo’s mouth trailing lower down my shirt to see he’d spilt the molten chocolate all over the floor. 

“Milo, the chocolate—” he waved a hand and the mess was gone, then that hand was on my breast, squeezing and fondling, and my words left me. 

I opened my legs to him where my pooled desire waited, and he straddled me just right that our centres met and he ground himself against me. Our mixed sounds of pleasure were so bawdy they could make Inn owners wrinkle their noses. He was hot and heavy and everywhere, and I needed him.

“I think you’re a little too clothed,” Milo whispered huskily in my ear, withdrawing his lips from where they’d been against my neck. I let out a weak whimper, fingers reaching out to pull him back to me, but he manipulated the air around them to pin them high above my head against the ground. He smirked down at me, then ran one finger from the hollow of my throat down to my cleavage. 

“I can do without this, I think.” He pointed to my sweater, and where there was once deep rusted wool was now a pile of ashes carried away on a phantom wind into the fire, leaving me only in my lacy black brassiere. 

“Please,” I ground out, squeezing my eyes shut as he lowered his lips to the space between my breasts. My gut coiled and twisted, aching for any kind of friction or touch or taste—anything to satisfy the raging beast of desire within me. 

“Not so fast, Keorah,” he drew out my name syllable by taunting syllable. His fingers traced the outline of my breasts, and I arched my back into the touch, craving more contact between the two of us. 

“You had a wholesome, hearty breakfast this morning,” he whispered into my ear. When his tongue flicked out to lick the shell of my ear, I thought I was going to implode right then and there. “I think it's time for my dessert.”

So fast I could barely process it, he burned away the rest of my clothes into the fire and was at my centre in an instant. I let out the most undignified sounds imaginable as his tongue lapped at my juices. He growled in satisfaction at the wetness that awaited him. And after working me endlessly great, sweeping strokes, his fingers were there to circle around delicately. 

“You're delicious,” he groaned, his teeth nibbling on my peaked nipple. My hands found their way into his air until I was clutching at him, pressing him against me with all my might. I was aching for his touch, ready to beg if it was what it took. 

He took my whimpers as sign enough and without warning, plunged two fingers inside me. 

“Milo,” I cried out, and he laughed from above me before burying his face into my neck. A moan was my only response as those fingers slid in and out, slow and hard, and everything within me focused on the feel them. I was bursting apart at the seams—

“You’re mine,” he snarled as his thumb clamped down on the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs. “Mine.”

The sound of those words on his lips was my undoing. Release barrelled through me and I let out a roar as my hips bucked against him. He only continued working me through it as I shuddered around him, pressing soft kisses against my neck as I began to tremble beneath him, limp from the enormity of what he’d just given me. 

An eternity of this wouldn’t be enough. 

I said as much to Milo, and he pulled back from where he’d been occupied with my neck to straddle me from above, a soft, loving grin on his face. “Good thing I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.”

I smiled, then raised an eyebrow as I pointed to Milo’s pants. One moment there, the next incinerated. Followed by his shirt. His socks. His underwear. 

I said, “You were a little too clothed for my liking.” I licked my lips as I took in his hardness. 

“Those were my favourite pants,” he pouted, yet still reached for my thighs and turned me over quickly before burying himself inside me from behind. 

+

Milo

We lounged upon the blanket as the fire dimmed lower. 

With Keorah nestled into my side, her head upon my shoulder, I thought back to what she said how an eternity of this wouldn’t be enough. 

Well no, it certainly wouldn’t, because she could quite literally trail a finger down my arm and I would probably be at attention in a heartbeat. But also because after everything that’d happened with the Illyrians and the war… I hated to say it, but there was a slim shot for us having eternity. There was a slim shot at having _weeks_ , if Tamlin kept right on his promise. 

Keorah shifted against my neck and let out a sigh. “You’re thinking about it.”

“Hm?”

“You’re thinking about it,” she said, and I looked down at her to see bright green eyes staring back at me, raddled with sleep and post-sex mellowness. “About the war. Tamlin.”

I swallowed hard and focused my gaze back up to the ceiling. “It’s hard not to when I’m holding you in my arms and I feel like it might be one of our last times like this.”

“I know,” she murmured, nuzzling her nose into my chest. “I know.”

A few moments passed filled only with the wind whistling outside the cabin, and my mate’s steady heartbeat against mine. I wanted to stay here forever, to barricade ourselves within these few hundred square feet and never leave. If there was a way to pause this moment in time and extract it, create our own little world and lives around it away from everyone and everything else, I’d give up anything. Our own little third world space. 

Keorah’s soft touch against my wrists had me opening my eyes. She was brushing her fingertips back and forth along the skin, which was still aching from the night before, but I was so distracted by everything else we’d done today I’d barely noticed it, save during the snowball fight when I was bent down a little too long and the fabric of my pants was pulled tight across the bigger gashes. 

“Milo,” she said. I knew that this was going to be a serious conversation. One I’d been dreading since I made my first cut. 

I said nothing. 

Finally, she sat up and reached over to the couch to cover herself with a fur. Her hair fell across her shoulders, clouding her wary face as she said, “I went to the Dawn Court this morning.”

My brows shot up, and I propped myself up on my elbows. “Why?”

“I spoke to Thesan.” She swallowed hard. “About self-mutilation.”

We only stared at each other for a few moments. I didn’t know what to say.

“Your dad brought me, and—”

“You told my dad?” I demanded, bolting straight up from where I was perched. 

“Of course not,” she stammered. “Thesan and I spoke behind closed doors with a noise shield. I told your dad I had questions about Mama. Your family is concerned, but only think you're stressed, is all.”

The knot that’d formed in my chest loosened, and I could finally breathe again.

She continued, “He told me briefly about the psychology and history behind, like you explained last night. He also gave me some techniques for you to try.”

“Techniques.” I said the word slowly. The words itched at my skin. I was so used to keeping these things to myself that even with the most sacred person in my life, this entire conversation made me want to disappear. 

Keorah clearly noted my discomfort because she added, “I know it’s hard and weird and you want to just slap a band-aid over it and move on, but I’m not going to let that happen. When I wasn’t eating, you were there every single time to help me. You were there, even when I snapped at you and bit your head off, you stayed.” Her voice was rough, and she reached out to grab my hand and curl her fingers around mine. “I’m doing the same for you, whether you like it or not.”

I brought her hand to my mouth and pressed a kiss to her skin. “Okay. Tell me more of these ‘techniques.’”

*

I tucked Keorah tightly into my chest, her back cradled against my sternum. The faelights dimmed until they burned out and the darkness encompassed us completely. 

Keorah’s body rumbled with the words, “Perfect day?”

“Perfect day,” I affirmed with a peck to her shoulder. 

Even if it might be our only perfect day, even if we didn’t have eternity, even if Tamlin stormed our lands tomorrow morning… I was wrong. Just this one day, just these few moments…they were enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am truly, deeply, irreverently sorry for being so inactive. I've just been so busy with college applications and end of term stuff I had to deal with, but I'm back baby. Also writing this for some odd reason was absolute torture because I just want to get to the action parts (which are comin up reeaaal soon baby!)  
> Anyway, sorry once again, and I'll try to be a better author :)  
> Hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	23. Paintbrushes and Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The toolshed welcomes its newest member: Oris. Milo is not having it.   
> Trigger warning: mention of previous sexual assault and sexual grooming, mention of self-harm and suicidal ideation

_CHAPTER 23_

Milo

Sunlight filtered through the floor to ceiling windows of the cabin, illuminating Keorah’s waves of blonde hair splayed out across my chest. She’d rolled into me during the night after I awoke shivering because she’d stolen all the blankets. I stretched out my limbs then slowly extracted myself from the sheets and waded over to the window to look over to snowy expanse. This early in the morning it was almost always sunny, but I learned up here in Illyria that it was just a narrow window before the clouds rolled in and turned it into the wasteland most knew it to be. In the distance, snow dusted across tree limbs and skittered along the forest floors, shaking the pines of their excess weight to reveal the rich greenery beneath. The cabin was always a place of relaxation and fun with my family as I grew up, but as the years progressed after I completed Illyrian training, I never made the time to come back here. Mum and Dad took a week off every year after Winter Solstice to themselves up here (we usually disinfected the entire place afterwards), and Dad, Cass and Az spent a week during hunting season in the fall, then their annual snowball fight on Solstice Day. The females of the family had invested in a private beach villa down in the Summer Court, courtesy of Tarquin and Varian, which was Amren and Aunt Mor’s preferred place of relaxation. But the cabin, for me at least…anything near Illyria was pretty much off the list. 

Where I did love, though, was the Spring Court. I only realized once I left how refreshing it was to wake up in the morning and not have to thaw my hands near the fire or constantly bundle myself up before heading outside, as I usually did most of the year. The smell of flower-scented breezes, fields of peonies and meadows of all the wild-flowers one could think of…everyone, I believe, had always undervalued its beauty and tranquility. 

Though I knew we should get back soon, we could still squeeze maybe an hour more to ourselves before transitioning back into panic mode. I didn’t even know where to begin with how to face the rest of my family after the last two days: screwing over the war-lord meeting, enclosing myself in the cabin, accepting my mating bond, denying that I see them… I was either going to coddled or berated, and to be honest I didn’t know which was worse. 

I looked down at my bare body and studied the constellation of scars leading its way from ankle to leg to hip to torso to arms and wrists. They’d healed significantly from two days prior, yet I knew I still would feel their sting if they brushed the wrong way against my clothes. 

Keorah had rattled off the many ways to cope with my pain positively rather than turning to my dagger last night, cradled within the warmth of the fire. She carefully explained everything Thesan had told her, from exercising to doing dishes, clutching something in my hand like a rock (anything but a dagger, really) to yelling and screaming, crying into a pillow, cutting something else (like a tree or a hunk of meat), or just getting in the bath tub and instead of cutting, to scrub my skin vigorously. She went through each of them step by step, catching herself sometimes when she couldn’t recall something by memory, but the dedication, thought and concern alone behind the gesture was enough to make my eyes wet. 

Still, looking down at myself, I was discontent. 

What truly made me frown, though, was the fact that I’d destroyed the tattoos I hadn’t magically protected; the one with Keorah and the other with my family. It remained nearly the same except now was dissected by thick, red slashes, and would need to be completely altered once the skin healed. For now, a long sleeve could cover it, but not my unshakable feeling that I’d fucked up the two most important relationships in my life. 

“We’ll fix them,” Keorah said softly behind me. I turned to see her curled on her side, facing towards where I stood by the window. Her eyes were still bleary with sleep but shone emerald in the sunlight nonetheless. “We’ll fix them.”

I nodded my head and wandered over to sit at her side. She cupped her hands around mine then brought them to her lips, gentle, warm and soothing. With a quirk of her eyebrow, she said, “But I think I want a few more.”

My eyebrows raised but I smiled. “I’m listening.”

* * *

After a quickie and a quick breakfast, Keorah and I found ourselves hand in hand on he front step of the cabin. 

As one, we took those few final steps until we were out of range of the protection wards placed around it. As one, we winnowed back to the Illyrian camp, glamours on, ready to face reality again after the pause we took. The smoke consumed us, and we were off. 

At the base camp, the clouds had already rumbled in and threatened a heavy snowfall overnight. Others nearby were either training in the rings or helping to prep for the on-coming storm by securing tents, giving out food and resources or putting away all non-essential equipment. In the distance, I could see Devlon over-seeing the archery lessons, and I resisted the urge to sneer. 

I turned away from the cacophony of the camp to face the doorway where my family awaited beyond. Though I knew they didn’t suspect what’d happened, I still felt nervous to face them again after the events of the previous days. 

Keorah must’ve suspected it because she turned to me and cupped my face in her hands. They were warm against the breeze whipping at our cheeks, causing the tip of her nose to burn the palest shade of pink. 

She said over the wind, “I’m here. I’m right here.”

I nodded and leaned my forehead against hers to close my eyes and just share one last, minute moment of peace between us. After a few breaths I pulled away then without hesitation, reached out to push open the door. 

We both stepped inside and stopped our boots of excess snow. The kitchen was a bustle of movement and bodies and noise, but mum paused where she was at the back of the room to take in the sight of my mate and I standing at the entrance of the threshold. 

“Milo!” Mum cried. She raced towards me, and Keorah let go with a grin on her face as my mother pulled me against her and peppered kisses all over my forehead. I rolled my eyes yet hugged her tightly anyways, finding comfort in her familiar scent and embrace. Mum pulled back with concern etched into the lines of her forehead and troubling her stormy grey eyes. 

“What’s wrong, hun?” She scanned me from head to toe, relief loosening the tension in her shoulders once she deemed me safe and unharmed. “Keorah said something happened. Is everything alright?” 

The others were kind enough to keep the conversation going, and I recognized other familiar voices piping in and chattering above each other. Beside me, I saw Keorah still, but ignored it and answered my mother. The coddling, I decided, was much better than the berating. At least at the moment. I said, “I’m fine, mum. I just had a panic attack. Keorah could sense it through the bond and came to help me.”

She sighed in relief. “You had your father and I worried sick. He’s out with Cass right now but should be back any minute. In the meantime,” she smiled, wrapping an arm around my shoulder to lead me to the dinette, “you’ve got some old visitors.”

I raised my eyebrows and scanned the faces at the dinette. There were Nya and Raph, looking mischievous and smiling as always, but there was one other hulking figure turned away from me that I couldn’t see. Behind me, Keorah was still standing still as death, and my heart rate picked up. 

“What’s going on, guys?” I asked as I approached the table. “What are you doing here?”

_MILO_ —

I didn’t have time to answer my mate before one of those figures turned and I was face to face with a long, diagonal scar extending from temple to opposite cheek. The male gave a full, wide smile, one I’d known and feared for far too long, one that I could still imagine every time I closed my eyes. 

“Hey, Miles.” His voice was like grated ash. “Long while since I was here.”

I swallowed hard. “What the hell do you want, Oris?”

* * *

Keorah

My skin crawled just at the sight of the male. I didn’t know how Milo was staying so clam. 

I only realized it was him seconds before he turned and spoke, and didn’t have time to alert my mate to the situation until it was too late. Gods, this was such horrible timing, right after he’d spent time healing and trying to cope with this…

And of all places, right here in the middle of his dinette while his best friends and his family surrounded us. 

“I’m just here to lend a helping hand,” Oris grinned, gesturing to the space around us. “Nyana said you were having trouble finding an army. I’m willing to dedicate a few troops to help the cause.” He winked in my direction and I bit back the urge to jump on him and snap his neck right then and there. 

Milo looked back and forth between Oris and I. I said, “What kind of numbers do you have?”

“I command a smaller legion. About two hundred men, prepped and ready to fight at your will.” He shrugged. “Unless you aren’t interested anymore.”

My heart sagged at the dilemma. Having some semblance of an army, yet having to work with the person that’d destroyed my mate’s spirit for years on end.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful we are for your offer,” Feyre said. Seated at the dining table, Nesta nodded, a hand poised on her stomach. “It’s so nice to see you again. It’s been too long.”

“Yes, it really has,” he smiled warmly at his High Lady who’d placed a friendly, supportive hand on his shoulder. “I’ve missed your mutton stew, my Lady. Miles has been depriving me.”

The rest of them laughed but I was only looking at Milo whose eyes had glassed over, like he wasn’t really present at the moment. The door opened behind us and in stomped Rhys and Cassian, both covered in a fine layer of dusting, but grins on their faces nonetheless. 

“Milo! Keo! You’ve finally deigned to join us,” Cassian grinned and clapped me on the back while Rhysand went to his son and furrowed his brows. 

“What’s wrong?” Rhys’s voice was quiet. The rest of the room silenced at the concern laced within his voice. Oris, playing his innocent, glanced at Milo with a worried gaze. 

“Jeez Milo, after all that time spent with your mate up at the cabin, you’d think you’d have at least a smile on your face.” Cass laughed as he stepped further into the room to kiss his mate on the cheek. Nya, Raph and Oris all glanced at me, disbelief and shock lining their features. 

“Mate?” Nya smiled. “ _Mate?_ And you didn’t bother telling us?” She demanded. 

But Milo was still silent. Unmoving. The entire room narrowed their focus on his muteness, and it was enough. 

I said to those gathered at the dinette, “This isn’t a good time. Come back tomorrow.”

Everyone turned to me incredulously. Rhys’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

My words must’ve clicked something within my mate because he cleared his throat and stepped around his father to face Oris directly. “I accept your offer. Convene with Cassian about the allocation of resources and transportation in preparation of travelling south for the deadline next week. Make sure all weapons are stacked and the troops are made aware that this is a voluntary mission, and all those who complain or question authority will be asked to leave. Any other outstanding questions can be directed to Nyana and Raph or Cassian.”

Milo then turned to his father and mother, both with confused, questioning eyes as he said, “I’m fine. I needed some time to myself. I’m ready for whatever you need me to do.”

The stood there, awe-struck. I couldn’t do anything, couldn’t step in. No, Milo needed to do this himself. 

“Well?” He asked. “Is there anything?”

“Uh-well,” Rhys stumbled, something that must’ve not happened often for the High Lord, because even Feyre looked confused and concerned. “No, son. There’s nothing. Are you sure you’re—”

“I’m fine. If there’s nothing, then Keorah and I are going back home.” My mate strolled to my side and held out his hand, which I latched onto unquestioningly. “Alert me if you need my assistance.”

Without another word, Milo winnowed us away until we were standing in his bedroom at the riverside manor. 

Milo burst into sobs.

* * *

Milo

I said I’d crawl to the ends of the earth. I’d obliterate the rest of the population or bring down mountains to save Keorah, my mate, my gift from the Mother, but this…

It seems in order to save her, I’d have to destroy myself in the progress. And I would do it in an instant. I really would, I just didn’t know if I could make it through alive. 

Keorah held me against her as I sobbed, remembering those terrifying moments whenever Oris would get mad and take it out on me, or when he needed to ‘relax’ and he’d grab me by my rear and bend me over. Those first few times, he’d held me down so forcefully I had fingerprint bruises all over my back and arms from trying to pry him off of me. He’d whisper in my ear, his hot, ranking breath all I could focus on as he decimated me piece my piece, consuming my innocence and happiness along the way. 

Now that I’d finally regained some semblance of it, he was there to whisk it away once again .

“We’ll dismiss him,” Keorah murmured, running her hands down the back of my greasy hair. We both needed baths, but I seriously debated if I’d make it into one and not get the urge to reach for my knife. “We’ll dismiss him then Nya and Raph can command the legion.”

I shook my head. “They won’t fight unless he’s there calling the shots. Soldiers develop a trust and faith in their captain, and if he believes in our cause, they will too. Besides, Nya and Raph are barely lieutenants and certainly don’t have much respect amongst the Illyrians.”

My mate sighed and fell back against my pillows, her eyes squeezed shut. “Gods, this sucks. This really, really sucks.”

“Yeah,” I laid back beside her and tucked my head into her shoulder. “But at least we have an army.”

“No,” Keorah protested. “I’m not letting him fight. We’re going back and declining the offer.”

I blinked at her confusedly. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not letting him weasel his way back into your life. I wanted to punch him in the teeth when he was speaking with your mother.” She shook her head in disgust. Her blonde hair fanned out across the pillow. “We go back tomorrow and ask him to leave.”

“No,” I asserted. “It’s the only chance we have. The only army we have. If we want any chance at defeating your father—”

“If our only shot at survival was working with my father, would you let me do it?”

I pushed off the bed to lean over and stare her in the eyes. My breaths were rapid and I wasn’t seeing clearly. “I don’t _let_ you do anything. You are your own person. You make your own choices. If you wanted to work with him, if you could tolerate him, then I would tolerate him as well. And if you didn’t, then I would rip out his fucking throat.”

Keorah blinked. 

“This is my choice to make.” My hand found hers and I squeezed it tightly. “Even if it sucks,” I said, reaching my other hand to curl a piece of loose hair around her ear, “I’ll do anything to protect you angel.” I raised our connected hands, mine clad in scarred and tattooed skin, the promise we’d made each other all that time ago. Beneath me she smiled, and I leaned down to kiss those beautiful, soft lips, her warmth heating the bitter cold that’d settled into my heart only moments before. 

She deepened the kiss, sliding her tongue into my mouth and caressing it gently against mine. I moaned into her as her hands curled around the nape of my neck and the back of my head, pulling me down against her. Needing less space and layers between us, I reached back and pulled my shirt over my head and threw it to the side, then proceeded to bring my lips back to her jaw, right to that sweet spot near her ear—

“Milo?”

I froze. 

My head whipped towards the door to my room. There stood Isra, clad in leggings and her favourite shimmery bright sweater Mor got her for Solstice last year, a wide-mouthed worried look on her face. 

But instead of directing the questions to me, Isra stomped to the side of the bed, one hand on her hip, the other pointing to Keorah. “Did you do this to him?”

I looked down and sighed. 

I’d forgotten my glamour.

* * *

Keorah

Thank the Gods I remembered my glamour. Already Isra was questioning Milo’s safety, I didn’t need her thinking I’d been attacked by a wild animal (though I guess that’s what you could call Papa). 

I was about to reassure her I had nothing to do with it until her skin began glowing. Flickering, almost, like fire was rippling beneath her very skin. It burned brighter until it appeared like she was a literal breathing flame, her hair transformed into tongues of heat. 

Milo disentangled himself from me and we both stood. He cried, “Zaza! Stop!”

But she wasn’t listening. 

I was completely frozen in place as tiny claws of flame slid into my mind, holding my free will captive. Instantly I was panicking, but I couldn’t control my breaths. How had she gotten past my shields?

“You hurt my brother,” she growled. 

I couldn’t even open my mouth to protest. My breaths were shallow and sparse, but I was gasping on the inside, she was _choking_ me—

Then the air was ripped from my lungs altogether. I couldn’t even scream. 

“ISRA!” Milo roared. He stepped in front of his sister and grabbed her by the shoulders despite the flames. I could smell his flesh burning, and the scent was enough to cease Isra’s violence, leaving her to collapse against her older brother with a whoosh of breath. 

I stumbled as her grasp on my mind retreated and tried to shove as much air in and out of my lungs as I possibly could. Never had anyone did something so invasive to me. To have my mind, my motor functions, my breath ripped away from me with half a thought…

Isra’s eyes met mine from where I slumped against the night table. Her head was perched against Milo’s shoulder, who was holding his little sister tight against his body, and only then did I realize she was crying with heavy, heaping sobs. The sight of it nearly knocked the breath out of me again. 

_Are you okay?_ Milo’s voice was full of concern and tinged with desperation in my mind as he kept whispering reassuring words to Isra. I only perched myself against the side of the bed, still trying to catch my breath. 

_I’ll be fine_. The words were breathless even through the bond between us. _What’s going on with her?_

_I have no idea. I think she’s having power outbursts because of improper training._

_But she trains nearly every day._

_I know._ The desperation was back, even more so than before. 

Once Isra’s sobs quieted down, Milo withdrew slightly from her and held her gently at an arm’s distance. He said, “Zaza, how long has this been going on?”

“A f-f-few weeks,” she hiccupped. Her big brown eyes were painted with fear. “Please, don’t tell mum and dad. They’re already worried enough.”

“Isra, this is dangerous. You could’ve really hurt Keorah.” He finally looked over his shoulder to glance at me. Once he saw me unharmed, some of the worry dimmed from his face. 

“I’m sorry. I thought you hurt my brother.” She looked down in shame. “Did she hurt you?” She wondered quietly as she stared at my mate’s scarred chest. 

Milo’s glamour flicked back into place. “They’re old scars, Zaza. I keep them hidden so I don’t scare people. I’ve always had them.” The lie rolled so smoothly off his tongue I nearly believed it. No wonder his family never found out. 

“I’m sorry,” she said again, then buried her face into her brother’s shoulder. Milo picked her up and held her body against his as he wandered over to sit next to me. His free hand found mine and he squeezed, the only reassurance he could offer me while taking care of his sister. 

“How long has this been going on?” He asked. “The outbursts?”

The air around us stilled before she said, “A month.”

Milo sighed. “Zaza, you need to tell mum and dad. They can help you with this. If you don’t take care of releasing your powers, you’ll end up hurting yourself or those around you. Why haven’t you told them what’s happening?”

The child bit her lip, looking nervously between Milo and I before admitting, “They just seem so busy with everything that’s going on. I don’t want to bother them. They seem worried enough.”

A sentiment that plagued both of Rhys and Feyre’s children, then. They cared for their offspring. They truly and whole-heartedly did, but because of the immense power and responsibility they hold over the rest of Prythian and the weight that those standards pose on them…of course their children wouldn’t want to impose on them. I would be the same way should I have been in their place. But the level of toxicity it was breeding into their children’s lives… somebody needed to do something. 

I also couldn’t help but feel like I was part of that weight. With my added stress, the war with Tamlin, all that is going on from the preparations to the Illyrians to having to fight Under the Mountain in less than a fortnight, it was mainly my fault that this extra weight was added to the family. Why Isra felt to keep what was happening to herself. 

It only added to the growing reasons already piling up within me. 

“Do you feel better, though?” I wondered quietly. The first words I dared breathe after what’d happened. “After doing what you did?”

Isra’s soft curls bobbed up and down with the nod of her head. “It’s not itching like it did before. And…” her eyes filled with tears once more as she held my gaze. Her chin quivered when she said, “I’m so sorry, Keorah. I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“It’s okay,” I murmured, smoothing a hand over her forehead with one hand and wiping her tears with the other. “You thought I was hurting your brother. You were only protecting him.” She continued to cry, so I only murmured, “It’s okay,” over and over until her sobs quieted. Milo looked from the two of us with quiet admiration. 

She was family now. I would do anything to protect her. 

“How about we get out of here for a while.” Milo suggested as he set his sister down. She still clutched his hand, but her gaze wandered over to the Sidra, covered in a blanket of clouds and fog on the cool Spring morning. “Wanna go to an art class?”

Isra merely nodded her head and extended her hand to me. Milo only gave me a tight smile before the three of us winnowed away.

* * *

The classroom was filled with people of all ages. There were quite a few children but they were stationed next to a parent or an older sibling near the front of the class. Isra had chosen to sit apart from us, and Milo and I took up two seats near the back corner of the room near the stretch of windows. At the front, teachers and aids milled about in their stained overalls as others brought brush to canvas in a quiet, peaceful manor, but my mate and I chatted quietly as to not disturb others around us. Our task was simple: paint anything related to frustration, whether it be the emotion itself, things that frustrate us or people who frustrate us. Milo’s piece was a dark figure against a blank white background. The person was faded around the edges, but there was a clear silhouette of what looked like a male.

“She’s so young,” Milo said. “She’s so young yet she nearly killed you today.”

“She’s got monstrous power in her blood, Milo. Everyone knows it. You know it. Rhys and Feyre were bound to have powerful offspring, and she’s just a prime example of it.”

“I know but even I wasn’t so powerful at that age.” His shoulders slumped, and he let out a soft, self-deprecating laughed. “I guess I got what I wanted. Looks like I won’t be High Lord after all.”

“Don’t say that.” I admonished. “You never know who the power’s going to transfer to.”

“I don’t want it anyway.” He shrugged. His eyes were wholly concentrated on the piece before him. Soft, slender fingers creating tiny and precise brush strokes down the side of the silhouette, almost like tiny ripples. I didn’t know what he was drawing, but whatever it was about the painting seemed to leech some of that wariness from his eyes. After the last few days, the Mother knew he needed it.

I still couldn’t shake the wrath that’d consumed me at the sight of Oris. If it were up to me I’d have speared him on the spot and fed his body to the wolves to die a slow, painful death. The nerve he had to step foot into my mate’s life, to smile at his mother, to play the perfect part of the saviour… he was playing a dangerous game, one at the rate he was going was going to get him killed.

I sighed and looked to the blank canvas in front of me. Instead of standing prostrate and useless, I picked up a brush and dipped it into red. I began creating lines here and there, not really knowing what I was doing, then dipped another brush into black and created more long, sweeping strokes. 

The hour passed by more quickly than I thought it had. Before I knew it, I’d drowned myself into my painting, placing colour wherever it felt necessary. The piece was abstract, no doubt, but i found it much to my liking. 

I was smiling, content of the work I’d done, and others went around to show off their own pieces as the room brightened with noise. When I looked over to Milo to see what he’d done, he’d pulled one knee to his chest where he was seated on his chair. His hair was tied back with a leather strap, which only allowed more light to illuminate the soft tear streaks on his cheeks. My eyes flitted to his painting and my stomach dropped to the floor. 

There on the canvas was the blank background, the faded silhouette, and all up and down those white ripples turned into red bloody cuts that seeped down from its body and soaked the area beneath it. 

When I looked back to my mate, he only croaked, “It’s taking everything in me right now not to go home and cut.”

I swallowed hard. “Milo, the fact that you are sitting here and expressing your feelings instead of acting upon them is progress in itself.”

“I still want to, though.”

I bit my lip. “Think of the techniques. Try and figure out something to distract you. Go out and just do something other than that.”

At that he looked up to the front of the room where Isra was putting her canvas on the drying rack as an aid smiled proud upon her. “But Isra…”

“I’ll take Isra home. Go for a walk and clear your mind. I’ll meet you at home.”

His eyes flitted to mine. I reached over to wipe away the tears below his eyes. He said, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” I pressed a kiss on his brow then turned to pick up both our canvases and place them on the drying rack. When I returned to our stations to clean up, he was gone.

 * * *

The streets of Velaris were less crowded on the drowsy, glum day. Isra and I walked silently back the house. I didn’t quite know what to say to her. I’d told her that Milo was called away for something up North and she didn’t bat an eye. I still felt like I needed to say something to her, whether it be comforting or reassuring. Something to prove to her that I was trust-worthy; to assure her I would never hurt her or her family 

“The same thing happened to me when I first arrived here.” It was the first thing I could think of as the house came into view. “I didn’t know how to handle my power. I wasn’t taught the dangers of keeping it all inside.”

“Did you hurt anybody?” Her bright grey eyes peered up at me filled with a child’s innocence. Innocence on the verge of disappearing forever. 

I nodded my head. “I hurt Milo once. I burnt him. And I scared a lot of people when I accidentally set myself on fire in the town square.”

She let out a laugh. “You set yourself on fire?”

I smiled down at her and nodded my head. She doubled over with laughter as we stepped through the doors of the house.

 * * *

Milo

I couldn’t stop seeing his sneer. 

Or the way he sat smugly in the dinette as he’d done so many times before, only years ago. All the family dinners he attended with us, the pleasantries he’d exchanged with my family. They worshipped him: a fine warrior, a fine male. The male who’d pulled their son from the deep end and kept him going through training. 

The male who in turn shoved me down deeper, who drowned me until my weak lungs could no longer breathe.

Sometime when I thought about it long enough, when I let my mind travel down that traiterous path, I could remember our times together. 

The first time in the birchin, a so-called Illyrian tradition after an especially gruelling day of training when the males dressed down and bathed in the steam. He forced me on to him and convinced me I was showing my gratitude for the new techniques I’d learned that day. My hands were shaking when I exited the birchin, along with the rattling of confused and ashamed thoughts within my mind. 

The second time, we came back from a fruitful hunt. I’d finally shot my first stag and Oris brought me back to his quarters to celebrate the victory. That time he wanted to reward me for my progress. I fought him, I tried to get him off of me—but he told me that I would like it. “Relax,” he’d said. “It’s okay. It’s alright.” No matter how hard I struggled, he pinned me down and had his way. 

I cried myself to sleep for days afterwards. But I kept going back, because I needed him. If I was going to impress my parents, if I wanted to be a warrior and get stronger and live up to my title, then I needed Oris to help me get there.

The few times later he’d forced himself inside me after aerial archery classes. I was so exhausted and hopeless, dripping in sweat and nearly on the point of collapse, that I didn’t fight him off as I’d done each time before. I let him take me and accepted the brutal assault on my body. 

After that day, I stopped fighting. I stopped until the moment I saw him in that alley and dragged the blade down his face. 

Even after that, I stopped fighting. 

I buried myself within my sheets and stifled my sobs with my pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are two more chapters until book one is over! I'll be taking a short hiatus between books 1 and 2 (I'm going to Italy and Greece in April and won't be able to update) but I'll have some chapters ready for the end of April. Hopefully you guys won't kill me (the cliff-hanger is going to destroy yall) and you'll be able to hold out until then.   
> Once again, thank you immensely for the support you've shown throughout this process. All the kudos and kind comments (if I don't reply to your comment honestly it's because I just forget to do so!! But don't worry, I do read each comment and they truly make my day) have propelled me to keep writing even when I've thought of abandoning the project altogether. Your faith in Milo and Keorah makes me want to continue their stories <3  
> As always, hope you're all having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


	24. Void and Hope, Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keorah and Milo get tramp stamps. Rhys and Keo face the big bad wolf.

Keorah

Upon our arrival, a crowd had amassed in the sitting room. It seemed as though Feyre, Rhysand, Cassian and Nesta had returned from up North and were now convened with the rest of the Inner Circle (as well as their significant others) in the sitting room off the entrance. Isra smiled at the arrival of her parents and bound into Feyre’s lap, seated on the love seat before the fire. The rest of them turned to me, who’d walked in alone with Isra, and searched behind me for Milo. 

“He’s out,” I said, though I didn’t really even know where he was. For all I knew he could be up at the cabin tearing his flesh apart, and I wouldn’t even know. Gods, I had no fucking idea what I was doing. I shouldn’t have left him alone, I should have forced him to stay with me so I could watch him and make sure he didn’t do anything—

Now was not the time to freak out. Not when the rest of his family could probably smell the fear on me. 

So I played perfect girlfriend and followed them into the sitting room. All were present: Rhys, Feyre, Amren, Mor, Cassian, Azriel, Elain and Nesta, all perched on sofas, lounges and deep chaises. I took a spot next to Cassian who gave my shoulder an amicable shove as I sat, to which I smiled at. 

The quiet chatter amongst them continued softly until Rhys cleared his throat. He locked eyes with us all and said, “The meeting was unsuccessful.” 

The tension in the air tightened. Amren only gave Rhys an ‘I told you so’ look while Mor just look despaired. Azriel and Elain remained impassively calm and silent, as they usually were.

“Despite that, thanks to one of Milo’s good friends, Oris, we’ve secured a small legion of two hundred who are armed and willing to fight.”

“Good male, Oris.” Cassian said, and Rhys, Feyre and Azriel nodded in agreement. “Loyal and smart.”

I was seeing red.

“While that’s great, we’re still severely outnumbered,” Azriel interjected. “My sources say the Spring Court’s army in nearing the thousand mark.”

“How the hell did he get those kinds of numbers?” Amren snapped. Her back was ramrod straight against her chaise. Those silver grey eyes seemed like tempests on a dark night, as they flickered back and forth from Azriel to me. Amren, it seemed, had not forgotten who was the cause of this whole debacle. 

Azriel said, “We don’t know. All I’ve heard is they’re coming from the East.”

“The Eastern border?” Mor demanded. “Where could they possibly be pouring in from? Nations across the sea have no business with this. They’re in good terms with us, anyway.”

“Let’s just be thankful it’s not the western border.” Feyre remarked drily. I nearly snorted. “Could it be the human territories? Maybe they’ve campaigned south and found people to support their cause. Or possibly swayed their minds to do so.” 

Rhys debated Cassian’s thought but shook his head. “Even if they could, humans would be damn near useless against us, even if it made their numbers stronger.”

Azriel’s eyes flickered from his High Lord to his High Lady. “That’s not the only thing my sources reported. Tamlin’s doubled the Tithe this month for the war effort and ran their coffers through the roof. The intake was substantial. In the human realm, there was also talking of an uprising against the current mortal queens, though no violence has occurred yet. To add, a group of humans, a family of about twenty or so, went missing a few days ago.”

It was the most I’d heard Azriel speak since I’d met him. Once the words were said, he retreated back to the confines of the couch beside his wife. Elain looked weary as the information settled into us all. I’d had no idea about the unrest in the human realms or if it had anything to do with us. But the fact that Papa was growing stronger and stronger by the minute…

Just more reasons. They kept piling up. 

“There’s something else, too.” Elain’s voice was as soft and gentle as baby’s breath swaying in the breeze. “I had a vision. There was a woman with raven black hair. All it said was ‘A queen before, a queen once more’.” Elain looked to her sister. “Does that mean anything for you?”

Feyre shook her head. “It doesn’t match the description of any of the human queens we’d encountered. I don’t know what it could possibly have to do with Tamlin.”

“Thank you, Elain,” Rhys said with a tiny nod of his head, “all information is valid information at this point.”

Nesta sighed against Cassian. “So where do we go from here?”

Amren shrugged. “There’s not much left to do except swim around the barrel.”

“Swim around the barrel?” Mor stared her down with a quirked brow. 

The Tiny Ancient Once nodded her head. “When Tamlin strikes it’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel. All we can do is swim.”

“Amren,” Cassian seethed.

Amren’s eyes fell on me for a second then shifted away. She didn’t speak another word, instead examined her nails. Rhys tried to catch my gaze with an apologetic look, but I kept staring out the window, hoping that what I was seeing was a figment of my imagination. 

“Are we having guests for dinner?” I wondered aloud. They were the first words I’d said for the entirety of this meeting. 

“Oh, they must be here,” Feyre said and bounded from the couch.

A knock sounded, and there at the door stood Nya, Raph and Oris.

I shot a glare at Feyre and Rhys. It’s not like they were looking at me while I did it, but I sure as well wished they were. 

I mean, did they ever get a clue? Or were they really so oblivious to all the signs Milo had shared with him?

“So this is where you dump all the excess coppers,” Oris smiled as he shook Rhys’s hand, who in turn clapped him on the back for the jab. Nya and Raph both gave updates about the camps to Cassian who shook them off and told them that tonight was not a political dinner. It turns out that this was a celebratory familial dinner. 

True to his name, the Shadowsinger nearly gave me a heart attack when he murmured lowly, “An aversion to somebody?”

I could only huff a scoff as I took in the deep lines in Oris’s cheeks as he smiled. “Don’t even get me started.”

Azriel said, “I’m supposed to be the one who knows about everyone and everything. That’s my job. But whatever happened between him and Milo…” Azriel shook his head. “I still don’t know, to this day. Nobody else suspects.” I blinked at the usually silent male. He hadn’t said that many words in my presence aimed directly for me. 

I supposed if it was in his nature to notice the little things, the hints, anything that might’ve been amiss with Milo, then Azriel would’ve detected it. But if even he couldn’t figure it out… I sighed. I had to stop resenting Feyre and Rhys for they cluelessness. 

“Because there’s nothing to say.” 

Azriel snorted, a gesture surprising for somebody who’d been so quiet and reserved these last few weeks. “There’s nothing for _you_ to say.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re not tricking me into admitting anything, spymaster. No matter how good you may be at it.”

Light danced in his eyes. “Fine.” A pause filled with the distant sounds of cooking and the table being set in the kitchen. Azriel cleared his throat. “Your mate is upstairs if you’re looking for him.”

My eyes darted to the top of the stairwell then to Azriel. I hadn’t detected anything through the bond. “How did you—”

He said over his shoulder as he walked away, “Like you said, I’m good at my job.”

Without another word, I raced up the stairs. My heart was beating so loudly within my chest I could barely hear the din echoing from below. I cursed Feyre and Rhys for having such a huge manor because of how long it took for my weak legs to push up the stairs and race down the hall to his bedroom. 

When I opened the door, nearly tearing it off its hinges, Milo perched on the edge of his bed and was staring down at the old cuts lining the length of his forearms. “I know.”

The tightness in my chess deflated, but was instead filled with worry. I could see Milo’s hands shaking as I stepped nearer to him. “I’ll tell them I’m not feeling well.”

“No.” He shook his head. Tears fell from his eyes and he made quickly to wipe them. “I can’t hide forever. Not if I’m going to have to work with him soon.”

I bit my lip. The sight of his hunched figure made my heart weaken with sorrow. I knew Milo; I knew that he’d force himself to tough it out. No matter how much it bothered him, even if it destroyed him in the process, he’d work and laugh and smile alongside Oris if it meant we had a shot at winning this war. I knew this because I would do the exact same for him, would it be Tamlin. 

When his eyes lifted to mine, I peered into them and saw the despair. The hopelessness. Five decades worth of misery dragging him down so heavily that even a soul as strong as his could no longer support the burden. He was barely holding on. 

Could he make it through if I left him?

Could I make it through if he left me?

I didn’t know. I didn’t know. 

But all I knew was that the person before me was slowly becoming a shell of the person I once used to know. If there was a way I could stop it, then I had to. For my love. My mate.

Milo’s fingers continued to brush over the scarred tissue. “I just hate them so fucking much. They prove to me how weak I am. They’re a blatant reminder of everything that’s happened. But I can’t fucking stop.”

“Did you cut today?” I asked. My stomach was toppling over itself. 

He shook his head and the tenseness in my shoulders eased. “No. I came so close.”

“The fact that you didn’t is progress. It’s a feat in itself.”

HIs voice hiccupped as his eyes were still locked on his arms. “They are so fucking ugly.”

I closed the distance between us and caught him before he collapsed into himself. I would not let him face the monster sitting in his dining room this way. I would not let him fall apart between my very fingers if I could help it. Just as he did for me, I would do the same for him.

I held his head against my abdomen as he sobbed. His arms wrapped around my waist, and all I could do was hold him, even if I wanted to march downstairs and tear Oris apart for everything he’d done. 

“Milo.” His eyes tilted up to mine. I said, “Let’s get out of here.”

He nodded and wiped away his tears with his sleeves. “Okay. Where are we going?”

I stared at the scars on his wrists and thought of my own lining my body. “To make something good out of something bad.”

* * *

Milo

The breeze radiating off the Sidra was enough to calm my rapid heart rate. It hadn’t stopped since Oris entered the household, and would probably start back up once we got back home. He’d never been to my home, one of the only places in this land I felt safe, and now that sense of security was ruined. When I felt his presence downstairs, when I sent that spear of magic towards him only to find who was there, I laid back onto my bed with the breath ripped out of my lungs. 

I didn’t know how I was going to survive the coming weeks. 

To have to constantly watch over my shoulder for him, to see him interact with my family. But most of all to have to pretend like everything’s alright, because there was no way in hell that the truth was coming out now, of all times. As if we didn’t already have enough on our plate. 

I was so grateful for my mate. I made a promise to myself that once the world and my head were in order, I’d treat her like the goddess she was to me. She stood at my side, one arm hooked at my elbow. The comforting presence of her head on my shoulder was enough to steady me on my feet. 

It was a quiet night. Usually the streets of the artists’ quarter were bustling, but from the sounds emanating from the theatre I supposed there was a show going on. Another thing I added to the list of things to do to thank Keorah: get her up on that stage for all to see. 

“Sounds beautiful.” The words were soft. She hadn’t spoken at all since we left the house, which I was grateful for because I could finally hear and make sense of my thoughts. Before when the panic had stricken there was no other room except for fear and crushing despair. 

I leaned over and pressed a kiss to my mate’s temple. “It would sound even better if it was your voice.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

I shook my head with a small grin on my face. “I hear you singing in my dreams, mate.”

“I must really have you wrapped around my finger,” she scoffed. We came to a halt before a shop whose lights were still open. There were various sketches displayed on the front, ranging from small pieces like hearts, creatures, and ancient writing to great vast constellations, galaxies, far away lands and grassy hilltops. It wasn’t until I read the sign above the small shop that I knew where we were: Uxia’s Tattoo. 

I stared down at my mate. Through the bond, I felt her brush of anticipation and excitement. She wanted this. 

It took me a few seconds to realize what exactly she wanted. Then she peeled back her glamour, revealing the marks on her face and scurrying down her neck, and I knew. 

Only moments later did the excitement spread to me. I wanted it to. _To make good out of something bad._

“Together,” she said, and squeezed my hand. 

“Together.” I echoed. 

She pulled the shop door open and with the ring of a bell, we stepped inside.

* * *

It hurt like hell. 

It took about an hour and a half for each of us. We’d been greeted by the door by a short nymph who only smiled and asked few questions. She did not balk at who we were, what we looked like or what we wanted. Only steadied her hand, which was long and spindly with five digits that ended in needles, almost pincers. Once we told her exactly what we wanted, she nodded, closed her eyes for a few moments, then asked Keorah to step onto the table. 

Her hand worked wonders. She only dipped the digits into her pot of ink before letting them glide across her back with a speed and precision she must’ve mastered over the years. Uxia didn’t say a word about the healed over scabs, wounds and slash marks on Keorah’s back, only tattooed over it with the ancient lettering my mate had described. 

Tears squeezed out of Keorah’s eyes. Uxia showed no sympathy. Tattooing the old fashioned way was a painful process but the magic of the tattoo held better for longer, and the artistry was more unique and fitted to the wearer’s liking. Before I knew it, the masterpiece Keorah described came alive and it was already my turn. 

At the look of my skin, Uxia let out a small sigh. I nearly recoiled at the sound, and Keorah was already about to skin the female alive for just breathing wrong. Then Uxia said, “My daughter as well. She lost her baby and her husband left her.”

I blinked. The leather table was warm beneath me from Keorah. 

“There’s a support group for people struggling. She told me a lot of them do it.” The female gave a small shrug. Her yellow scaly skin rippled with the movement. “You’re not alone.”

My throat was thick with tears when I said, “Thank you.”

She nodded and quickly got to work.

The sensation was like being stung by a nat over and over in five different places all at once. The pain was at its worse whenever she passed over areas of thinner muscle and cartilage, or when she passed over fresher cuts, and those moments I squeezed Keorah's hand as tight as i could. Near the end, though, I could barely feel it. When she finally said she was done, I slid off the table, and she lead us to the back of the shop where stood a full length mirror. 

The sight took my breath away. 

We were stripped to our undergarments without any hint of glamour upon us. I asked to keep and repair Keorah and I’s tattoo as well as my family tattoo, but everything else, every other inch of skin was inked over except my face. Even the Illyrian ones disappeared beneath the new lines. 

On Keorah’s body, she was littered with flowers. Roses, daisies, dalias, carnations—any flower you could think of was drawn down her legs, torso, her arms, all upon the background of stars and celestial bodies. On her back were the twelve main astrological constellations in the night sky only drawn with different flowers instead of stars. And of course, written in the slashes of the claw marks on her back was the story of her mother and Vesna written in the Old Language so she could carry their love and loss with her wherever she went. 

My body was glowing. Littered with stars, constellations, celestial bodies, galaxies—I was a night sky, I was a being of darkness. Tendrils, whirls and swirls all snaked across me. Down my legs were flowers and other greeneries, as well as on all my joints like my knuckles, elbows and kneecaps were my favourite flowers in full bloom. 

Gone were the scars. Gone was the topography of pain. 

This was hope. This was rebirth. 

I looked at my body and smiled. 

* * *

After tipping Uxia a generous, generous amount for the work she did, Keorah and I stumbled out of the shop drunk on the unstoppable feeling running through our veins. What we'd just done was permanent, sealed forever with ink and needle. Now every time I wanted to cut, I would instead see the wonders of a cloudy midnight moonlit sky on my thigh to remind me of the good. Of my home. 

In the moonlight, Keorah never looked so gorgeous. Her hair fanned out across her shoulders to shape the beauty of her scarred face, the blush kissed cheeks that brought out her emerald eyes. Long black lashes blinked once, twice as I just stared at her. 

I knew. I just knew. 

“Wait right here.”

“What?” she barked as I sprinted away. 

“Just do it!” I screeched as I ran into a music supply store. The shop owner's head whipped up to me from the book he was reading and looked confused at my panicked gaze. 

“Can I help you?” His tone was more accusatory than helpful, as though my interruption of his reading time was the abomination of the century. 

I panted, “Harp strings. I need a harp string.” 

His brows furrowed once more but he went to the back of his store and rifled around for a few moments before returning with a pack of harp strings. 

“Just one?” 

He rolled his eyes. “The pack or nothing, boy.”

I slammed a few gold coins on the counter and his eyes widened as I snatched the pack of strings and broke their seal. “That's Milonius to you, _boy_.”

The shop owner started blubbering apologies but I wasn't listening as one of the strings unfurled. I didn't need much, so I shifted my finger into a sharp edged digit and cut the piece I needed. I discarded the rest on the shop owner's counter with a thank you and dashed out once more. 

My hands worked the piece of string as Keorah came back into view. As I told her, she was standing there looking confused as always. She looked even more confused at the sight of my sprinting towards her like an idiot. 

“What is it?” she demanded. The pure command and steel in her voice convinced me even more how much of a fine High Lady she'd make. 

I got onto one knee. Her entire being paused. 

“Milo.” The syllables were but a rush of breath. 

“Marry me.” I said. “Right now. Marry me.”

“Milo.” Tears fell softly down her face. Passersby smiled. 

“I love you.” I said it over and over again. Her hand reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and she kneeled on the ground before me. Carefully, I took her hand and slipped the makeshift ring onto her left marriage finger. 

“Is this a harp string?” She wheezed through her laughter when I nodded but threw her hands around me despite it. 

“Yes.” She whispered in my ear. “Milonius, I’ll marry you. Right now.”

I winnowed us to the Priestess’s temple in a heartbeat. 

* * *

I collapsed against the bed. Consummating the marriage was something we had no problem with. 

We may’ve consummated a little too much. If that was even an issue. 

I didn’t care that my family was downstairs. I just kept quiet and rejoiced in our silent moments of euphoria. Keorah beamed at me from my side and I still couldn’t believe that I was lucky enough to call her my wife. 

The ceremony was short and to the point, but now looking at my wife, I felt like there was more I needed to say. 

“I don’t think the timing was random. I don’t think it was ideal, either, but the timing of you and I was purposeful.” The words were scratchy from my spent throat. Keorah only ran her hand lazily up and down my tattooed side. “After hearing stories of the mating bond and all its glory my entire life, I began to wonder a little. My grandfather and grandmother’s snapped into place when he witnessed her on the precipice of her wings being clipped. Mum met dad in the middle of Amarantha’s cruel reign. Elain and Lucien’s clicked in as Elain was about to be dumped in the Cauldron before a cruel king, and Cassian and Nesta’s snapped when Nesta was at the lowest point in her life and Cassian was losing faith in his Illyrian people. The mating bond clicked in when they needed somebody.

“The Mother knew I needed you.” Tears leaked out of the corner of my eye. Keorah’s thumb reached over to brush it away. “She knew that you needed me too, I think. We both needed each other to heal. To surpass our pasts. To rebuild our futures.” My hand wrapped around the nape of my mate’s neck. “Keorah, there is nobody else on this earth that I would rather spend eternity with than you.”

Keorah’s hand wrapped around mine, her fingers squeezing me tightly, and it felt like we were sealing something deeper than just our marriage. Our souls seemed to meld together like the Cauldron had crafted them from two halves of the same whole. 

“I will love you when my flesh feeds the ground. I will love you when all live leeches away from this world, I will love you when even the stars themselves begin to fade away to make new for future presences unknown. I will love you when the earth collapses on itself after all the damage done unto her, and all the time after that, and not because the Mother chose for us to be bonded, but because I truly admire who you are. The light within you guides me through the dark, and I will follow and feed your light until the end of my days.”

There was nothing else I could say. Not as my blood paused within me in answer to her words, words that made me wonder who I ever functioned before without her in my life. 

Our lips touched, and I pulled her into my chest. We fused together, and our love burned slow like the wildfire between us, steadfast and unending. All along, we’d been giving pieces of ourselves to each other, but this final act of unity was what truly forged our souls together. So much so that I brought down the wall between us in my mind and sent a spear of light shooting for her. She responded by crawling through and wrapping herself within me, two souls curled around each other in the space between us. 

Moments like this, with her, made me forget my destroyer was dining with my family only one level lower. She had such effect on me that it was like we were away from the insanity and fear the plagued the land and back in the ethereal, perfect world we’d created at the cabin. 

After that long searing, unbreakable kiss, she pulled back and smiled to wipe the tears from my face as I did hers. 

“I love you.” She smiled. “Husband.” She added with a wink. My wife and mate withdrew from the sheets towards the bathroom. “A drink of water?”

“Yes please,” I answered before settling back into the sheets.

* * *

Keorah

He wouldn’t hear it when I snuck out of bed. I made sure of it. 

My mate’s arms flopped away from me one at a time as the relaxant I’d slipped into his drink took effect. There was no room for error when trying to leave the people you love, because next thing you knew you couldn’t even breathe without inciting suspicion. 

Milo was going to hate me. I knew he was going to hate me, and I accepted it when I made the decision. Because it wasn’t his decision to make. If he truly loved me, if he respected me, he would be okay with this. 

But I knew if I explained that to him he’d call bullshit. 

I sighed as I fastened the last few buckles on my Illyrian leathers. As I anticipated, Rhys was in his office like I overheard him mention to Azriel earlier. If anyone could understand what I was going through right now, it would be him. He locked himself away for fifty years as Amarantha’s slave to keep the people he loved safe. He knew the choice and power behind sacrifice. 

My knuckles rapped softly against the oak door. The rest of the house was eerily quiet save for the wind whistling against the windows. Moonlight filled the hall in intervals as it shined through the windows. Late at night with Mama when I couldn’t sleep, we’d wander the halls of the manor to try and tire me out. I’d play the game where I skipped from one patch of moonlight to the next. If I stepped in the darkness, I was dead. The memory of her smile made the corners of my mouth sag. 

Even more reason to face Papa. For Vesna. For Mama. 

The door clicked open and there was the High Lord of the Night. He seemed confused as he pulled open the office door to let me in. “Keorah? What are you doing awake?”

Rhys’s office overlooked the courtyard. It consisted of one massive window as the far wall with a view that saw far across the city, his home. On the far right wall was a wall filled floor to ceiling with books (as if they didn’t already have enough in the library). His desk was meticulously organized with no pen or paper out of place, and the only other decorum in the room was a love seat in the far corner and two chaises before his desk. He gestured for me to sit in one of them as he took up spot perched against the front of his desk. 

“I need your help. You can’t freak or run to Milo or yell at me, because I know that’s going to be your initial reaction, so please just listen to me, okay?”

“What is this about, Keorah? Are either of you in danger?”

“Yes. Well, um, no. Not immediate danger.” I sighed. It would be impossible to try to explain this without breaking Milo’s trust. “You’re all in danger. Me being here, us not agreeing to Tamlin’s terms, that puts us all in danger. You, your mate, my mate, and your family…” I wished I could stay here long enough, get to know each of Milo’s aunts and uncles and parents well enough to call them my family. “When Papa’s deadline comes up, we’re going to war. And I’m not ready to sacrifice those Illyrian men and women. I’m not ready to put you all in danger. Not when all he wants is for me to go back.”

“Keorah.” Rhys’s nostrils flared. I knew he was angered more about the fact of his son losing his mate than me actually leaving. “We already discussed this. We knew the risks going into this. We were ready to accept them because of what you mean to this family.”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that I didn’t want this?” I demanded, pushing up against the love seat. Rhys’s eyes widened as I stood, his jet black hair glinting in the light of the flickering candle behind him. “I was taken from my home after I forced you all out. I was told that despite my refusal, we were going to war anyways. Time after time I requested to be brought home, but you all said no when it was never your choice in the first place.”

“You’re saying that you wished we left you there with that bastard? Do you know the guilt we would’ve faced for the rest of our lives? Milo’s anguish and resentment against us?”

“Of course not! I just wish that for _once_ somebody would listen to what I have to say!”

“You’re saying you would’ve wanted us to leave you there? To up and abandon you, and let you die in the process?”

“No. No, that’s not what I’m trying to say. What I’m saying is that I have never had a choice. I have never had a say in my future, in my daily life, in anything. Now that I do, I want to go back. I want to save you all, save my mate, save the lives of those who will be putting themselves on the line for me.”

Rhys paused for a long while. His eyes swept over the city skyline as though he were trying to imagine the scenario I was proposing to him. My heart pounded against my ribcage, so much so that I pressed a hand to my chest in attempts to calm it down. 

“I don’t know if I can live with myself if I help you do this.” He admitted it quietly. “I can’t just go go behind my son’s back and deliver his mate to her death.”

“You’re a hypocrite.”

The High Lord’s brows shot up and his wings unfurled in a furious snap. “Excuse me?”

“You’re standing there and telling me that you won’t let me save the people I love when you did the exact damn thing seventy five years ago. You knew the risks going in, you knew that it would hurt the people you loved, but you did it anyway because you’d rather see them hurt than dead.” I shook my head. “Don’t stand there on your high horse and tell me you won’t help me because you don’t think it’s right. I know it’s not right. I know I’m going to hurt Milo. But if there is any shot at giving my mate a life, _I will take it in a heartbeat_.”

Rhys’s shoulders sagged, and his wings drooped as his eyes filled with hard understanding. “Keo.”

My feet stepped closer to him slowly. “I am forever grateful for what you and your family have done for me. You gave me my life back, you helped me heal, you made me stronger.You were all my hope in the endless sea of void I drowned in.” It felt like the ground was caving in beneath my feet. “I can go in there and try to take them down from the inside. I’ll help. I’ll do just like Feyre did all those years ago.” Tears welled in my eyes as I stood before him. “Please. Let me do this. Let me save my mate.”

Carefully, Rhys reached out and pulled me into his chest. I hugged him tightly, wishing that there could be any other way to get through this, to have time to spend with my mate, my new family. But what I had, this gift I had been given by the Mother… it would be enough. 

“Okay. What do you need me to do?”

* * *

The spring breezes whipped at my hair as we winnowed in. I didn't know when the trembling started, or when my teeth began chattering, but it was enough to make Rhys reach over and grab my hand. He gave it a squeeze and shot me a look filled with comfort and understanding, but mostly pain. Unending pain. As though he hated every second of this but understood nonetheless. 

We were in the Autumn Court for such little time that our movements wouldn't alarm sentries. I knew they could detect Rhys's and I's powers for miles, which was indeed why we'd decided to winnow to the border and have them meet us there instead of in their stronghold at the manor where they held the upper hand. Papa had first suggested through the short notes of correspondence in Rhys’s office to meet Under the Mountain, but I replied right away that it was out of the question. 

The lands were great plains of calf-high grass. For eons it seemed like they stretched on. My home. The Spring Court. 

As soon as we touched down on the grassy plain, Rhys closed his eyes and shot out a spear of his power. My knees nearly buckled at the impact shuddering throughout the land. No doubt, Tamlin and Carrick would be here in seconds. We waited silently on the Spring Court's borders. 

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “I know how hard it must be to go scheme behind your son's back.”

Rhys swallowed hard. “It's your choice Keo. Just as it was Feyre's all those years ago to come back, to take them on from the inside.”

“I'll try,” I breathed, my eyes brimming with tears, “I promise I'll try. But when they kill me...”

“Don't say that.” His voice was low and guttered. 

“When they kill me,” I repeated, “Tell Milo that I love him. That I'm sorry I lied.” My chin quivered. “It was all borrowed time, anyway. I still wished we had more of it.”

Rhys's face was lined with two streaks of tears treading paths down his cheeks. He wiped them away quickly with his other hand, and his breath was choked as it squeezed out of him. 

“I will.” He promised. 

“Good.” In the distance, dark red light crackled, and I knew they were almost here. Dark powers made tremors shudder through the ground, and my stomach twisted at what I knew awaited me in a few moments. 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Although these were the final moments, I knew if I wanted to back-paddle, Rhys would respect my wishes and we'd retreat in a heartbeat. But I'd made up my mind. 

“I need to do this. For my friends. For you, for my family. And for my mate.” I swallowed hard against the lump in my throat as I imagined Milo's mind curled around mine, two souls twined in the dark. 

He nodded. He understood, as he gave his life for his family in the Hybern wars. If there was anybody on this earth that could understand, it was Rhys, and I couldn't have been more grateful to have him at my side in these final moments of peace before everything fell apart. 

“It isn't so bad, is it?” I shot him a strained smile. “To die for your family?”

He squeezed my hand, and his voice was rough as he said, “I'd do it over again in a heart beat if it meant keeping them safe.”

That's what I kept telling myself as thoughts of Milo's smile turned over in my head. Even though he'd hate me for it, there was one last thing I needed to do before I left. 

“Milo isn’t okay.” I said the words shakily, infused with panic. “I've been lying. He's really not okay, Rhys, and you and Feyre need to talk to him and help him—”

“What do you mean?” Wildfires blazed in the High Lords eyes. “You said—”

“I was lying. He didn’t want to say anything, but I’m afraid that he’s going to—”

I couldn’t say anything else as black smoke appeared before us and three figures stood where once was blank space. There were Papa, Carrick and Nevanthi, looking vile and smirking as usual, the faces that haunted my nightmares. Well, maybe not Nevanthi. I'd no clue why they brought her along. 

Papa's eyes strained at the sight of me, and it seemed like all his muscles were clenched beneath his tunic. Something—something was wrong. But it didn't matter. 

I gave Rhys one last squeeze of my hand before letting go and wandering over to stand before them. 

“What a prize,” Nevanthi breathed. “Keorah, you are one difficult girl to track down.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I was in plain sight the entire time. Maybe you're all just thick skulled.”

Nevanthi's brow furrowed with distaste. Carrick huffed a breath of frustration, seeming almost bored with the situation. But Papa... something was wrong. Sweat was dripping down his brow, and his eyes were wide, flickering back and forth from mine to Rhys and the land behind us. Why wasn't he speaking? 

This entire situation seemed off. 

_What's going on?_ I asked Rhys at his mental shields. He lowered a sliver to tell me, _I can't get into his mind._

“This little game of back and forth has caused some serious dents to our plans. Right, Tammy?”

A strained nod of Papa's head. Like he resisted the movement entirely. 

“Let the girl live, Tamlin. If it's revenge you want, take me instead.”

My heart froze in my chest. “Rhys, no—”

He didn't even look at me. ”Torture me all you want. I'll take it, just let her be.”

“As lovely as that offer sounds, little Rhysie, you hold no real value to us at the moment. At least as far as your family history goes, you’re Night Court through and through. Not exactly what we're looking for.” Nevanthi shot us a saccharine smile. 

...what the hell?

“What do you mean, family history?”

“You, Keorah, are a different breed. While Feyre Cursebreaker was gifted the gifts of Prythian, you were born of them purely, bred through your family during the past millennia. We tried taking that mate of yours a while back, thinking maybe he'd be a candidate with his mixed heritage, but then you all had to interrupt our fun and ruin it. For the better, I suppose, because he was a gamble. But you..." Her eyes sparkled with malice. "You truly are a child of all courts.”

Rhys glanced at me with a glint in his eye, which marked the only sign of his confusion. 

“What do you mean? Why the hell would you need that?”

Nevanthi sighed with a roll of her eyes. “Well, I guess we don't need to play this game anymore.” Nevanthi puffed out a sigh and pointed to my feet. Suddenly, dark shadows gathered around me like a bubble. I reached out to slip past them and was met with blinding, burning agony at my fingertips which tore a guttural scream at my throat. When I looked down, my fingers seemed seared. I willed my blood to heal the marks but it wouldn't. Of its own accord, the barrier lifted until I was off the ground and right before Nevanthi, out of reach from Rhys completely, who stood still as death as he took the situation in. Even the glamour covering my scars and tattoos dropped. I was completely bare in a way I haven’t been before. Rhys’s eyes widened as he took me in. 

“Cute little thing, isn't it?” Nevanthi's voice wavered and twisted until it was lower, more a sensual, dark caress. “A literal ward that completely conceals the victim from all magic, all external elements, and even their own powers. That and so many more trinkets in Hybern's spell book. Truly a magnificent gift.” She clucked, “And it seemed it even peeled back what she was hiding beneath that glamour of hers. Afraid of showing your true skin, my pretty? What a shame. I loved what you’ve done in your pathetic attempt to cover up those scars, though.”

My breath hitched in my throat. When I looked up to Nevanthi, her black hair had now turned red as rubies. She seemed taller as well, and her figure was more shapely beneath her priestess robes. They shrivelled away until she wore black combat clothes with swirls of red dancing down the sleeves, as well as bonewhite accents. 

Carrick grinned as he beheld the woman who appeared. His own skin peeled back to reveal a vile creature beneath with a beak and ugly, black wings jutting from his back. His beak was razor sharp. 

The Attor. 

I shuddered. Carrick was the Attor, a man I'd kissed and let touch me and told him I loved him. I'd slept soundly beside him night after night, let him hold me—

I had to hold back the urge to vomit all over the grass. 

Papa's eyes closed painfully. 

When I looked back to Rhys, he was pale. So, so pale. His face was completely slack, and his eyes... they were glassy. Lifeless. Dull. 

“It's truly wonderful to see you, Rhysand,” the woman purred. I could hear my heartbeat echoing in my ears. “Missed me?”

“Who the hell are you?” I cried from where I was trapped, severed from the rest of them. Rhys looked like he was on the brink of losing it all. 

But there was also a glint in his eyes. The earth trembled and shook beneath him and I could feel his magic spooling, prepping itself to be holy unleashed across the lands—

“Oh, Rhysand don't bother with that, you'll just exhaust yourself. We've got so many wards you'll run yourself dizzy.”

“Amarantha,” Rhys breathed, the first words he mustered since she'd revealed herself, “let the girl go.”

My heart caved within my chest. Amarantha. Prythian's captor for five decades, and Rhys, Rhys had...

Holy Gods above. He needed to get out of here; she was going to kill him or worse, take him just to torture the rest of them—

They'd continued back and forth while I was out of focus. I interjected them saying, “Amarantha, lower my wards. I'll send him away.”

Rhys and Amarantha turned to me. The latter snorted. “You really think I'll fall for that?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “When Papa almost killed me, Milo tried to stay. I winnowed him away against his will.”

“Is that true?” Amarantha turned to Papa, who still hadn't moved an inch or breathed normally, evenly for the past five minutes. 

Another strained nod of his head. Like every inch of movement was draining. 

Amarantha looked me up and down, assessing coldly, calculatingly. “Fine,” she sighed, “try anything and I'll take Rhysand up on his previous offer. Maybe even call down his mate to come and watch. Or perhaps his gorgeous little daughter.” She said the word with a bite of her teeth. Rhys's eyes darkened with unmatched lethal fury. In the distance, the entire damned mountains shook with the force of his power. True to her word, Amarantha lowered her wards, and I stretched my palms towards Rhys.

“Don't do this,” he breathed. I paused for a moment before realizing his eyes were wholly locked on Amarantha's. “Not again.”

Amarantha's smile was vile enough for the bugs to skitter away beneath our feet. “Breaking you will be my greatest feat, Lord of Night.”

Before either of them could continue any further, I squeezed my eyes and shot a blast of power towards Rhys. It was more difficult this time, because he was expecting it, trying to edge through my magic and resist, but I was stronger. More focused. Not as emotionally unstable in the face of Prythian's captor. Just as he were a piece of furniture, I winnowed Rhys back to the townhouse against his will. 

The moment he was gone, I felt the tang of magic in the air as the wards locked into place. Then, I felt the absence of my magic as the bubble enveloped me whole. 

With Amarantha's smile as the last thing I saw, I entered the Spring Court: my home, my court, my eternal prison. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So first of all, sorry not sorry.   
> Second of all, this is the end of part one. I'll be taking a month hiatus (just to torture you all) and I'll start publishing the next parts around the beginning of May (or sooner if I'm ready). Thank you all for supporting me throughout this, and I truly hope you enjoyed it! The next part of the series will be much less character based and more focused on action and plot, which will hopefully be a lot more exciting.   
> As always, hope you're having a wonderful morning/afternoon/evening!  
> Kat


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